The Castaway
by Koboldlord
Summary: The story of a diferent survivor and his interactions with the characters over the six seasons. Elements of the story may change due to his involvment. Claire/OMC Romance... because I love her. Some fluff later on, Hurley, Charlie and Locke also Star. *Temporarily Discontinued.*
1. Chapter 1 Unplesant Landings

**Chapter 1**

"**Unpleasant Landings"**

It was officially the worst plane ride of my life, and I HATE planes. They always make me feel nauseous, and that's on a smooth ride. Any sort of turbulence comes along and I'm certain the plane will come apart, shattering in midair, killing us all. That's usually the point when my sister rolls her eyes at me and tells me I'm being paranoid.

Except this time she was wrong.

I was on a flight home from Australia; I'd been visiting a cousin of mine. He'd always been trying to get me to come down for a visit. I figured now would be as good a time as any. It had been a fun enough visit, I suppose. The flight home on the other hand...

It was simple enough. I would catch a round flight, stopping at LA, before ending up in the Toronto airport in Canada, my native country.

The flight was taking a lot longer than it was supposed to and I was starting to become uneasy, when the turbulence hit. There was a shudder and then the plane split in two. The tail end fell away from us, sending the front end plummeting. I can barely remember it. The actual crash is very blurry in my mind. Just flashes mostly.

I remember a man in a business suit, very fancy, very good quality, getting hit in the head with a briefcase and passing out. An unfortunate woman getting sucked right out of the plane, screaming all the way. A Korean man and his wife sitting in the same row as me began speaking in rapid fire panicky sounding Korean. I just screwed my eyes shut and prayed it would be painless. There was an awful lot of screaming.

The emergency sirens began blaring throughout the plane, it seemed a bit unnecessary, at this point everyone knew there was an emergency. I puked up the light snack I had earlier. The oxygen in the plane was dwindling when the air masks finally dropped down from the compartments. Even with all the chaos I still managed to slip my mask over my face.

The plane groaned as the hull began rupturing. As if the crash wasn't already bad enough the cockpit and first class section of the plane decided to separate from the fuselage. The plane was now in three parts and I had an amazing view of us free falling. The cockpit spun away but I had no idea where it went, I was too busy crying in fear.

The fuselage plummeted towards some sort of tropical island. _An Island? I thought we were heading to LA?_ The island rushed up to meet what was left of the plane. The impact sent a shockwave through the plane, rupturing my seatbelt. I was pitched through the air, limbs flailing, and I hit sand, face first. My nose crumbled on impact and I blacked out.

I came to rather quickly, my head throbbing with pain. The blood running down my chin was caked in sand, my nose flattened against my left cheek. _Crap_, _I've lost a contact_. I forced myself to my hands and knees, glancing around with the one eye I could see from.

The beach was littered with flaming pieces of wreckage from the plane crash; one engine was still running, drowning out almost every other sound with its groaning. People were everywhere, some lying unmoving in the sand, others running around screaming. The sounds overwhelmed me and no matter how much I forced my hands over my ears I couldn't stop the noise. Deciding to move I climbed shakily to my feet, looking all around me. I saw a man come dashing into the chaotic scene from the jungle.

He was tall, well built, wearing an expensive suit, his tie was eschew and his face was covered in scars. The hair on his head was a deep brown and there was a small amount of scruff on his chin. He took one look at the scene and came dashing in.

"Help me! My leg is pinned!" I heard a hoarse scream coming from behind me. I turned to see, out of my good eye, a middle-aged man, his lower half trapped underneath a piece of metal. He was pushing frantically at it but it was useless, the man was trapped.

The man in the suit dashed over to help him without a second's hesitation. Despite all his tugging and pulling the man in the suit just couldn't dislodge the metal. The pair was dangerously close to the engine, which had begun to belch black smoke by this point.

He looked over and saw me standing around. A few other guys stood behind me, not knowing what to do.

"Hey!" He yelled waving us over, "Give me a hand with this!" I came dashing over as fast as I could, while seeing out of one eye. An older man and some other guy followed as well but I couldn't really get a good look at them.

"On three!" The man in the suit called out, trying to be heard over the groaning of the engine. "One...two...three!" He counted, signaling at us to lift the wreckage. We did so, giving all we had as we slowly forced the metal chunk upwards. I could feel the sweat dripping down my back with the effort, the wreckage wasn't light. The man in the suit used the gap we'd opened to drag the trapped man out from under the metal. The formally trapped man's leg was shredded, his pant leg soaked in blood. If I hadn't already puked on the plane I probably would have at that point. I don't like blood.

The suited man took his tie off, wrapping it around the wounded guy's leg over the gash with the speed of a practiced physician. He looked over at the other two guys and then back down at the fallen man, "Okay, you two get him away from the engine! Get him out of here!"

The older man nodded and the pair began dragging the wounded man away.

"What about me?" I asked the suited man, squinting out of the eye I could see from.

He looked at me like I was crazy. I guess I shouldn't have thought that he'd treat me seriously. I wasn't even twenty, only half way through nineteen, trying to see out of one eye, blood dripping from my broken nose. Then again beggars can't be choosers.

"Help me! Anyone!" Another voice, this one feminine, screamed, trying desperately to be heard over the din of all the other sounds.

The man in the suit waved at me to follow him, "Come on!" He took off in the direction of the screaming after signaling me. Jumping some of the wreckage that blocked his path barely slowed him. I said a quick prayer and followed the suited man, hoping I wouldn't run into anything in my half-blind condition.

I dashed across the beach, tripping over something in the process and fell on my face. Quickly I scrambled to my feet, dashing after the man in the suit. He was only a few paces ahead of me and being on a track team kept me in shape. I was able to keep pace with him.

The woman who had screamed was hunched over, hands on her knees, face twisted in agony as I arrived. The first thing I noticed about her was that she was pregnant, very pregnant. Then I saw how beautiful she was. She had clear blue eyes and long blonde hair that framed her face, which looked sweet even though it was twisted in pain.

"I'm having contractions!" She half cried half screamed at the man in the suit, clutching her enlarged belly.

The man was clearly a doctor, because he didn't even seeming fazed, "How many months pregnant are you?" He asked her in a soothing voice.

"I'm Eight months pregnant," the woman managed to gasp back to the doctor. She had a very thick Australian accent. I didn't know anything about medicine or babies, so I just stood there, trying to look helpful.

"How far apart are they coming?" He asked her in that same calm voice, while simultaneously surveying the chaos around us.

"I don't know," She stammered, "They just happened." I glanced around, following the doctor's gaze; a young athletic looking man was trying to give CPR to a black woman. He didn't appear to be having much success.

The pair of guys we'd left were soldier-walking the wounded man away from the engine as fast as they could. That's when some guy I didn't recognize walked too close to the engine. I saw the older man waving frantically to get the new guy's attention, probably warning him to keep his distance. The other guy didn't seem to hear.

The doctor was talking to the pregnant woman, holding her hand and telling her some medical things I didn't understand, when the new guy was sucked right up into the engine. This caused the engine to explode. It erupted like a geyser, flames shot in all directions, and the shockwave from the explosion flung everyone backwards. The doctor hunched over the pregnant woman, shielding her with his body.

I fell onto my back, hitting the ground hard. The wind flew from my lungs as stars flashed before my eyes. Shards from the engine flew in all directions, having a bullet-like effect on everything they hit. Everyone I could see hit the sand, me, well I had the advantage of already being on the ground.

The doctor pulled the pregnant lady to her feet as soon as the shrapnel stopped, speaking to her again, something about her 'being okay' I didn't catch it. I was too busy trying to get up.

The woman could only moan by this point but she seemed to be okay. The doctor looked over at the young guy doing CPR and grimaced.

"Take care of her okay!" He told me, "Hey you!" He shouted at a different person who had been standing around aimlessly. The guy was very heavyset, with a mop of curly brown hair on his head, his face blackened with soot. He came over slowly, as if fearing he'd fall flat on his face for no reason.

"Listen you two," the doctor told us, very business like. "I need you to get her away from these fumes. Take her over there and stay with her." He pointed at a piece of the plane wreckage, one clear of flames. "Do you understand?" I nodded. This guy seemed like he was a leader type and I followed his orders without question. We could always argue chain of command later.

"If her contractions occur less than three minutes apart call for me okay?"

"Got it!" I told him, trying to sound optimistic.

The heavy-set man didn't share my enthusiasm. "Dude, you've got to be kidding me..." He began, looking at the woman.

The doctor held the woman's hand and spoke to her in his calming voice, "I need to go now but I'll be back soon, you'll be okay."

"Thank you," The woman gasped back as he began to take off.

The big man looked at the doctor as he dashed away and shouted, "Hey! What's your name?"

The doctor looked back, "Jack!" He shouted at us and like that he was gone.

I knelt down, next to the woman and wrapped my arm around her, sliding her right arm over my shoulder to help support her. "Take the other arm," I told the heavyset guy, "We can walk her away without causing her too much pain."

The big guy followed my lead. "Not a bad idea dude," he grunted, as our unusual trio began hobbling toward the cover.

The pregnant Australian kept thanking us between groans, I didn't hear. I just kept putting one foot in front of the other, trying to move as fast as I could without straining her. She wasn't light, even with the other guy's help.

"I'm Alec by the way," I told the big man, "You got a name?"

"Hurley," he grunted as we kept moving towards the wreckage of the fuselage. "Claire," The woman gasped out, managing to avoid grimacing.

"What?" I asked her, as me and Hurley kept her moving.

"I said Claire, that's my name." She told me with a slight grin on her face, despite the pain movement must have brought her in her current state.

"That's a nice name," I told her, blushing as soon as I said it. _What a stupid thing to say! A nice name indeed!_

"Dude, you okay?" Hurley asked me from the other side of Claire. "You're all red and stuff,"

"I'm fine," I replied with a fair amount of chagrin, "I'm just a bit sunburned, that's all."

"Thanks again," The Australian grunted. No one said anything after that, we simply tried to get Claire over to the shade. It was difficult but we managed, sweating as we arrived. I collapsed into the sand in a sitting position with my back to the fuselage, the other two followed suit, Claire managing to keep a hand on her belly as she sat.

Hurley wiped his forehead with the back of his meaty hand, "Whew. That was harder than I thought it would be."

"I'm sorry, I have a lot of baggage," Claire replied, a pleasant smile on her face, her accent giving the words an interesting tinge.

"Glad to help," I replied, sitting next to her.

"So Alec," Hurley asked, trying to strike up conversation, "How long do you think it'll be before everyone calms down and chills?"  
I looked around at the screaming, panicked people, "Probably a few minutes yet..." I paused as I heard something creak.

"Hey man? You hear that?" I asked Hurley  
That's when I noticed Jack, dashing towards us at top speed waving his arms frantically, "Move! Move! Get her up! Get her out of there!"

Both Hurley and I looked up to see the wing on the fuselage straining and falling towards us.

"The wing!" Jack shouted, though by this point it was obvious to us what was happening.

Grabbing one of Claire's arms, Hurley moved instinctively. I took the other, leading us away from the falling wing at a sprint, Jack close behind us.

We put a good bit of distance from the wreckage before the wing hit the ground, and exploded.

The resulting explosion pitched all four of us onto our faces, hard. My broken nose bent over to my right cheek, sand rubbing into the wound.

Behind us the wing explosion ignited many of the plane parts as the remains went up in flames, leaving my ears ringing from the noise.

Then, just like that, it was over and a strange sort of calm descended over the survivors. Most of them stopped screaming, though the moaning of the injured continued. Hurley rolled onto his side, spitting out a mouthful of sand, Claire sobbed a little and I didn't even bother trying to get up this time.

Jack was on his feet before Hurley had even starting rolling over.

"You okay?" He asked Claire. She nodded, "You?" He asked Hurley. The big man gave a similar reaction without much enthusiasm. "What about you?" He asked looking at me.

I raised my hand, my battered body lacking the willpower to speak.

"You two stay with her okay?" Jack told us before dashing off to help the others.

"Dude," Hurley replied, forcing the words out, "I'm not going anywhere."

I couldn't agree more. So I proceeded to pass out.


	2. Chapter 2 I get a Nose Job

**Chapter 2**

"**Getting a Nose Job"**

I don't know how long I was out. No one had bothered to wake me. But it was dusk when I recovered.

"Hey, you're not dead," someone I didn't know told me in a thick southern accent. "Too bad, I wanted a run through your pockets." The man was blonde, and the smile on his face was far from pleasant. He took a drag from his cigarette as he talked.

Being too weak for a snappy comeback, I simply rolled over and staggered to my feet. The blood on my nose had dried, but dull pain still hammered in my head.

The other man sauntered away, blowing puffs of smoke as went. Other crash survivors were just standing around with forlorn looks on their faces, clearly not sure what to do. Claire was among them, standing in the surf, looking out into the sea as she rubbed her stomach protectively.

A couple of bonfires were going, lighting the dusk and giving off big clouds of smoke. I figured that someone here was trying to signal for help. Based on our current status it didn't seem to be working.

Doing nothing is something I can't stand, so I figured I'd make myself useful. I intended to look for my luggage later. Since nobody seemed to be doing that now, I figured that I wouldn't either.

An Arab man and another shorter man in a hoodie were hurling logs onto one of the fires. I headed over there, figuring they might want a hand. The shorter guy had a blond-brown beard on his face, with a mop of blonde hair on his head.

The Arab man saw me first, half turning and nodding at me before throwing another log onto the fire.

"Hey," I addressed him as I headed over, "Need any help?"

The man looked at me. "Don't enjoy standing around?" he asked. His accent was very thick, making some of the words difficult to understand.

"That obvious?" I replied with a half laugh, trying desperately to project a humor I didn't feel.

The Arab smiled, more out of courtesy than out of any sense of amusement. "Indeed. But I would be grateful for the help." He looked at the stack of wood next to the bonfire. It wasn't the most inspiring pile. "As I told Charlie, we need fuel to keep the fire going; otherwise the rescue team won't notice us. So . . ." He nodded in the direction of the jungle. "Could you go get some? Mr. . . ."

"Timm," I replied, offering my hand, "Alec Timm."

"Sayid," he answered, shaking it firmly.

I dashed off after the man in the hoodie, who I assumed was Charlie. Four hands could carry more than two.

I'd lost my watch in the crash, so I had no way of knowing how long I moved wood for. I was thoroughly exhausted by the time we finished. Going hard since that crash with no real time to break had drained me. Sayid picked up on it. "Alright that's enough," he told us. "We can last the night with this." In the light of the fire, he got his first good glimpse of my nose.

"You might want to get that looked at," he told me with the tone of an order rather than a suggestion.

"It's not that bad anymore," I replied without much confidence.

"What about infection? You're caked in sand and mud. We don't know the conditions of this jungle. My advice? See the Doctor as soon as possible."

"Thanks for your concern, Sayid," I replied to the Arab. "I'll take what you've said into consideration."

"You don't want to go out through infection, Alec. I've seen men die that way; it is not a pleasant end." The way he said it really made me believe that he had seen men die of infection. I realized that he knew what he was talking about.

I'd heard as much from various other doctors and soldiers. It didn't seem like the way I wanted to go. So I decided to find Jack and see if he could check me out for infection or splinters in the bone or anything dangerous.

The sun was setting seriously now, the light fading away from the beach rapidly. Despite the dark, and my missing contact, finding my way around wasn't too difficult, something that surprised me.

People had started gathering around the bonfires, trying to keep themselves warm despite the chill in the air. Hurley was handing out objects wrapped in tinfoil to everyone he could find. I couldn't see them very well but I felt it was a safe bet to assume they were plane lunches.

Jack was off on his own, with some brunette woman I didn't recognize. He had a flashlight in his hand as he was looking over a gash on someone's arm. A bag of assorted medical supplies he had no doubt salvaged from the plane sat next to him, ready to be used.

"It's not bad," he told the man, playing the beam of light over the wound. "Just a light cut. Your veins and arteries are all good. I'm going to clean the wound a bit, bandage it up. You'll be fine."

The man didn't reply, simply nodding. He looked a little pale, but that was to be expected from all the excitement. Jack poured some alcohol from a small bottle over the gash in the man's arm and then bandaged it up with some white stripping I recognized from his dress shirt.

Jack slapped the man on the shoulder, smiled and nodded his head, giving the man a clean bill of health. The man went away, scratching his arm a bit, but looking otherwise fine.

Jack saw me standing patiently and waved me over. "Alright, what's your problem? I haven't got much to work with, but I'll see what I can do."

Jack looked decent considering the trial we'd been through. He was scruffy from not shaving and a bit battered, but better than most. I almost didn't want to think about how much better he looked than the ones who weren't breathing.

"I've got a broken nose. I think it's fine, but Sayid told me I should get it checked out."

"Hmm, broken nose, eh," Jack mused, shining his light over the crumbled mess that used to jut out straight. He had a pair of tweezers that he used to prod the bone. It wasn't comfortable. "Thanks for your help on the beach today," Jack told me as he worked. "I couldn't be everywhere at once, but people like you are the reason we're still alive."

I don't handle praise well. "Thanks . . . I guess . . . I just . . ." This was really awkward. "I try to do my bit to help out."

"Glad to hear it," Jack murmured, taking another prod at my nose. Another tinge of pain racked my body. "Well, that man trapped under the wheel owes you. So does the pregnant woman. If you and the big guy hadn't pitched in . . ." He shook his head. "I doubt she'd have made it."

"You're Jack, right?" I asked him, trying to change the subject. I didn't want to think about other people dying, not after so many had already done so.

He nodded. "You? You got a name?" he asked me, putting the tweezers down.

"Alec Timm." I replied, not yet understanding why he had put the tweezers down.

"And where do you live?" he asked me in that same soothing voice he'd used on Claire. It made me a bit nervous.

"Ontario, Canada. Why?"

"No reason," Jack replied. Then he smacked the shattered bone in my nose with the palm of his hand. I hissed in pain as it slid back into place with a squish.

"The bone's broken. I'll clean it and splint it. You'll be fine." That soothing voice was a bit infuriating, considering just how much I was hurting. Pain was better than being dead, though.

I couldn't reply through the pain; I just grunted at him. A pair of toothpicks and some of the shirt went over my nose after Jack poured some of the alcohol on it. It smarted. The makeshift cast was taped down with some packing tape, and, like the other man, Jack patted me on the shoulder. Well, until he noticed me squinting.

"You okay?" he asked. "In the eyes, I mean. You're squinting."

Feeling a bit abashed, I rubbed a hand through my hair. "Yeah. I, uh, lost a contact lens during the crash. I've got a pair of glasses in my suitcase. Haven't gotten a chance to look for it yet, though. I'll be fine for now with one."

"Don't worry; we're going to look for stuff in the fuselage tomorrow. Assuming we haven't been rescued by then." He added that last bit with a smile I was sure he didn't feel. I'm a pretty good judge of people, and Jack didn't seem to have placed much faith in a rescue. Truth be told, I didn't either.

I nodded and thanked him for his help, then proceeded back to the others. Hurley was about done handing out lunches. He waved me over. "Hey, dude, figured you'd be hungry." He handed me one of the tinfoil wrapped meals, as well as a plastic fork and knife.

"Thanks, mate," I replied, tearing the plastic wrapping off of the cutlery. "I'm starving! Any idea what it is?"

The heavy-set man shrugged. "No clue. It's airline food, though, so I doubt its any good."

I chuckled a bit. "Not a bad assessment. Thanks again." I looked over the beach, "Everyone got one?"

"Yeah," he replied, looking over at the people, "Except him." Hurley pointed a finger at the Southern man who'd told me he'd wanted to rummage through my pockets. He sat on his own, smoking his cigarette, with a pile of the lunches next to him. It was about enough to feed him three meals for three days.

"Jack-hole beat me to one of the carts. Been hogging all of them for himself. I asked him if he was going to share. Guess what his answer was?" Hurley asked me pointedly.

"Judging by the stack of food next to him, I'd guess he wasn't feeling generous," I replied with a slight tinge of humor in my tone.

"Got that right," Hurley snorted before trudging off in Sayid and Charlie's direction. "Take care, dude," he told me from over his shoulder as he departed.

I waved after him. "You too, man." I looked around for a good place to sit and enjoy this . . . pasta dish, I think. It was kind of a potato salad type mush. Not that my grumbling stomach minded eating it at this point.

Most suitable areas were already occupied. Besides that, most people were already sitting with someone.

Claire, on the other hand, was sitting by herself, on a metal pipe, eating the mush alone. She looked rather lonely. I decided I was going to sit with her. I tried to convince myself it was because the pipe was the only open spot; it was a lie I didn't believe, but I mustered up some courage and went over to her anyway.

When she saw me approaching she gave me a dazzling smile and a wave. I suddenly felt very warm despite the cool air.

"Is this seat taken?" I asked jauntily, trying to sound suave, and failing miserably.

"No, you can sit here if you want," Claire told me, her accent punctuating the words in a way I found very exotic and interesting. "I've noticed most of the other spots are already occupied."

I sat down gingerly on the pipe next to Claire, keeping a few inches between us. Without much enthusiasm, I jabbed my fork into the salad-type mush. After taking a bite, I found that it was the best salad-type mush I'd ever eaten. The first bite was soon followed by another, and another came after that one.

We ate in silence for a while before I spoke. "How are you feeling Claire? Any more baby problems?"

She shook her head. "No, I'm fine, they've stopped." She looked at me seriously. "Thank you so much for your help today. I've already told Hurley, but I felt that you should also hear it. I'm so grateful that you noticed and helped me."

"Well," I said. Hoping the darkness would hide my blushing, "My parents always told me I had White Knight Syndrome."

Claire chuckled at that. "I'm no damsel," she said, smiling.

"But you _were_ in distress," I pointed out, grinning back.

"There _is_ that," she replied.  
We sat in another period of silence. "Was he on the plane?" I asked her out of the blue.

"Who?" she asked, raising a blonde eyebrow, mouth half full of food.

"Your husband," I responded, nodding toward her belly.

"I'm single, actually," she responded, a little embarrassed. She rubbed her enlarged stomach instinctively. "How modern of me."

I felt a strange combination of relief and hope. "It's alright, I was just curious."  
"I know, I get it a lot," she paused staring into one of the fires. "Most people aren't as kind about it as you and Hurley."

"We're all in this together," I told her, meaning every syllable.

"Until we're rescued," Claire replied, a sparkling smile in her eyes.

I wasn't cruel enough to let her in on my suspicions. I got the impression that we'd be here a long time.

Sleeping was an interesting predicament. No one had any beds or anywhere particularly comfortable to sleep, so we ransacked the surviving suitcases. Towels and blankets were in abundance and everyone sort of made makeshift beds for themselves.

I found a suitcase belonging to some overweight, middle-aged guy with a horrific taste in colors and floral arrangements on clothing. His balled up Hawaiian style t-shirt made a decent pillow. After crumpling it up, I placed it against the pipe that I'd been eating on earlier with Claire. Sure, most people weren't sleeping just yet, but I was tired. I glanced around at the others. Jack was over by the fire talking with the brunette woman, Sayid and Charlie were sitting on a log by a different bonfire. Charlie was writing on his canvas wrapped knuckles with a marker.

I'd found a Bolero in the man's suitcase. It looked cool, so I put it on and tilted it over my eyes to shut out some of the light. I shifted a bit, trying to get as comfortable as possible before closing my eyes.

Then the weird stuff happened.

I heard this loud groaning, growling noise. Quickly I snatched the Bolero off of my face and stood up, glancing towards the jungle where the noise had originated. People were dashing over and soon there was a crowd.

"That was weird, right?"

"What was that?"

"Was that Vincent?"

I didn't know who any of those voices belonged too, but they all hushed up when it happened. A pair of huge palm trees in the jungle began falling as if something had knocked them over.

Claire was standing in front of me, gazing wide-eyed at the forest.

"Did anyone else just see that?" she asked, looking back at Hurley and me.

I just nodded a blank look of terror on my face. Hurley managed to get out, "Yeah."

Everyone was gathered before our camp in a line looking into the jungle. The growling increased and a whole row of the trees collapsed as if the beast was thrashing around.

We just stood, staring as the trees fell. No one spoke. I was close enough to Charlie that I managed to hear him speak. "Terrific," he said.

Needless to say, I didn't sleep too well that night.

I woke up twice in the middle of the night, forgetting where I was. The jungle was dark and ominous, not a pleasant sight later in the evening on a strange island. When I finally woke the next morning, I had shifted in the night and had a branch sticking into my rib cage. The sand had leaked into my ears and something, probably a rock, had scratched me during the night. At least I hadn't been eaten by the monster. Small comforts.

The morning sun was warm, providing a mild comfort. I hadn't had the foresight to pack anything with sleeves. I had been in Australia. My T-shirt left my limbs almost numb from the chilly night air. People were in various states of activity, mostly eating, so I decided to do the same.

Those who were eating had supplies left over from the plane. A quick search of the wreckage-covered beach yielded me a battered, yet still full can of Pepsi and two bags of salted peanuts. I've had better and worse breakfasts over the course of my life; this one was more worse than better. The blonde southern man, I noticed, was eating another packet of the mush meal and washing it down with something that looked remarkably like a bottle of whisky.

_Probably found the alcohol cart._

Finishing the Pepsi, I crumbled the can and pitched it without much concern. There was so much garbage on the beach, I doubted a little more would hurt. I shot a glace out to sea for any signs of a rescue. There where none, not that I expected any. Since I figured that I'd be here at least another day, I decided to see if I could find Hurley, maybe strike up a conversation with him. I didn't really know anyone else. Well, Claire, but I couldn't see her anywhere. She was probably still sleeping.

A group of people huddled near where I was. Charlie and Sayid were among them, so I figured I'd get to know some of the other people. A quick glance over my shoulder showed me that Jack was again talking to the brunette woman, alone. She seemed to have fallen into the faithful-friend-slash-advisor type of role. She seemed nice enough. Hot, too, if I was honest with myself.

Sayid and Charlie were in the ring with a black man and his son, plus that lifeguard-type guy I saw doing CPR and some blonde woman about the same age as him. I wasn't sure what they were talking about but they didn't seem to mind me coming over.

"Sayid," I said by a simple way of greeting.

"Alec," the Arab replied, looking up as I approached, "Come sit with us."

"Now that you're done poking around at the trash on the beach," the blonde woman sniffed at me, nose tilted slightly.

"He's the smart one, Shannon," the lifeguard replied, "at least he's eating something."

"Yeah, peanuts," the blonde scoffed. "I'll eat on the rescue boat, Boone."

"_If_ there's a rescue boat," Charlie muttered under his breath.

"We have a black box in the plane," Shannon told him matter-of-factly as if talking to a small child. "The rescue team's going to find us."

"Shouldn't they have been here by now, though?" I asked innocently enough.

Shannon sent daggers at me with her eyes. "Listen, Canada-boy," she smoldered, "They'll be here, okay? Might be a storm or something. But they're coming."

Not wanting to argue the point, I simply nodded and grunted an affirmative noise.

"What about the crash, then?" Sayid asked, trying to change the subject and deflect the brewing tension between Shannon and myself. "Did anyone notice anything during it?"

"The plane fell apart," Shannon muttered.

"Real helpful," Boone replied in an even tone that sounded genuine to me.

"We lost both the cockpit and the tail," the black man stated, "and we survived. The odds of that are so minimal it's negligible. What caused it? That's what I want to know."

"Felt like turbulence to me," I replied. "The whole plane just started shaking and then, BOOM!" I clapped my hands to emphasize the point.

"I can second that," Charlie replied, his English accent putting an interesting slur to the words. " I was in the loo when it happened." He gave an embarrassed smirk. "Not a pleasant place to be at that time."

"It was something very strange, and we're fortunate to be alive," Sayid added to the conversation.

"Well it wasn't natural, that's for sure," the black guy responded, dropping a hand instinctively on his son's shoulder.

There was a pause in the conversation as no one had anything left to say, so Charlie spoke up. "Does anyone have any sunblock?"

I fought down the urge to laugh out loud. It was such a ridiculously random thing to say. Mind you, the sun was beating down, and maybe Charlie burnt easily.

_There's something familiar about that guy. He sounds so familiar. _

I couldn't place my finger on just what it was and it was bugging the heck out of me. I knew Charlie from somewhere. I just couldn't place it.

Of course, Shannon had sunblock. "I've got some," she told him, offering the bottle. It was then that Hurley decided to make his presence known.

The heavy-set man came walking over, from the direction of the plane crash, shielding his eyes from the sun's rays with his hand. "I was just checking out the fuselage," he told us solemnly as he knelt in the circle. "Its pretty grim in there. Do you think we should do something about the . . ." He looked at the black man's son and decided not to say it. "B-O-D-Y-S."

Everyone had a perplexed look on their face, myself included. I could hear Charlie muttering the letters, puzzling them out.

"What're you trying to spell, man?" the black guy asked, "Bodies?"

"B-O-D-I-E-S," the little kid told us without looking up from the image he was drawing in the dirt.

"That sounds like a good idea," Sayid stated without much emotion.

"No," Shannon blurted out, sounding very much like someone in denial. "They'll deal with it when they get here!"

I was about to tell her that I doubted very much that "they" were coming. But before I could, Jack decided to join in the conversation.

"We're going to go look for the cockpit," he told us, kneeling inside the circle, "see if we can find a transceiver. Help the rescue team." He looked at Boone and then at me for some reason, as if leaving us in charge. "You're going to need to look after the wounded." Then he looked more to the circle in general. "If the guy in the suit wakes up, try to keep him calm, but don't let him remove that piece of shrapnel, understand?"

"Sure. I know a bit about that sort of thing. He'd bleed out if we removed it, right?"

Jack nodded at me. "I'll see what I can do for him when I come back, but I don't want him bleeding out while I'm gone."

I nodded once more, to let Jack know I was on top of it.

"Alright, cool," Boone replied. "Hey, what about the guy with the leg? The tourniquet guy?" he asked Jack, sounding concerned.

"I stopped the bleeding last night. He should be okay," Jack replied.

"Cool, good job," Boone told him, sounding sincere about the comment.

"Hey, I'll come with," Charlie stated, standing. "I want to help."

"No, I don't need anymore help," Jack replied waving his hand at the Brit.

"No, its cool, I really don't feel like standing still." Charlie argued. Jack shrugged in surrender as the pair walked off with the brunette woman. I could just make out the sound of Charlie's, "excellent," as they departed.

I looked over at Boone. "Well, shall we take a look? No time like the present?" I asked him, wanting to get it out of the way.

"Not a bad idea," Boone replied, rising from his seat.

I stood as well. With a nod to the others, we began to search the beach for the wounded, like Jack had asked.


	3. Chapter 3 Claire eats some Peanuts

**Chapter 3**

"**We get rained on and Claire eats some Peanuts"**

"Boone, right?" I asked him, while squinting out of my one eye, trying not to run into anything.

"That's right, Alec?" he sort of asked-slash-told me. I nodded back at him. "You okay, man?"

"The splint should keep my nose in place," I responded without much humor. The splint was itching like crazy and making my nose feel particularly sore, but it seemed to be working.

"I meant your eye," the athletic young man told me. "You're squinting a lot."

I was impressed, most people wouldn't have noticed the squinting when I had a much more obvious war wound on my face. "I . . . uh . . . lost a contact in the plane crash." I told him, a little bit sheepishly. "I've got a pair of glasses, but they're in my suitcase. If I can find it, and if they're unbroken."

"You're not going to run into anything, are you?" he continued along his line of questioning.

I snorted disgustedly. "I'll be fine."

Most of the people we saw wore this strange bewildered look on their faces, as if wondering why they hadn't been rescued. A few were keeping the fires going, but other than that there wasn't much activity going on.

We stopped in on the shrapnel guy first. Jack had rigged a makeshift shelter for him out of a tarp, and fortunately he was still sleeping. The metal chunk sticking out of his chest didn't look very healthy or comfortable but at least he was resting up. Since neither of us knew what to do about something like that, we both went on, letting the man rest.  
We paid a visit to the tourniquet guy next. He was conscious and doing fine, so we continued without working much. Most of the wounded were nothing more than broken bones. It was amazing that you were either killed outright in the crash or escaped with nothing more than a broken arm or a few scratches. Talk about strange odds.

Boone went off on his own, back to Shannon I would imagine. Judging by how much they interacted she was either his sister or his girlfriend.

I saw Hurley continuing the food hunt for the group. Sayid was working on the fires, keeping them burning, and since Charlie was gone off with Jack and the woman, I figured I'd look around.

The remnants of the fuselage sat on the centre of the beach, mostly untouched. The reek of death was about it and no one seemed desperate enough to want to go in it. I got chills up my spine just looking at it, no matter how hot it was on the beach. The remains reminded me of a haunted house I'd been in once. Left me with nightmares for weeks. I decided to leave it alone.

Other bits of plane wreckage seemed to be the points where people were gathering; sitting with whatever meager possessions they had left.

My own curiosity aroused. I bent down and opened a suitcase that looked like it might be mine. It wasn't.

"Looking for anything good?" a familiar southern voice asked me from behind. I spun around rapidly, spying the blonde American, wearing a smirk, smoke rising from a cigarette. "Word of advice to a fellow looter, the good stuff is in there." He nodded at the fuselage.

I couldn't believe this guy! Stealing from the dead! Had he no dignity? "I'm looking for my bag." I told him through clenched teeth. "I'm no thief."

"Ouch, cut me to the core, String-bean!" the southerner told me in mock pain, throwing a hand over his chest, like he'd been kicked in the heart.

"String-bean?" I asked him incredulously.

The man gestured at me with his cigarette. The foul-smelling smoke made me cough. "You equals tall and scrawny. That equals string bean. Like it?"

"Not overly," I responded coldly, turning my back to him and popping the clutch on another case. It wasn't mine either.

"Was your bag grey with a small Canadian Flag tied to the handle?" the man asked me, taking a puff on the cigarette as he said so.

My pulse quickened. "Did you see it?" I asked in a carefully neutral tone, trying not to show this man how desperately I wanted it back.

"Maybe." He responded in a tone identical to my own, taking another puff, sending the smoke up into the air.

"Look," I told him trying not to sound short, "If you've seen it then just tell me. Don't jerk me around." I looked at him, awaiting an answer.

The man's smile widened. "Nope. I haven't seen it. Probably still in the fuselage." He turned and walked away, humming some tune I couldn't make out.

_Jerk._

Since looking at the suitcases had gotten me nowhere I continued my stroll of the beach. Another bag of peanuts sat in the sand, looking forlorn and lonely. I picked the bag up and put it in my back pocket. I'd be hungry later. No doubt food would get harder to find as time went on. Might as well stockpile.

I noticed Claire sitting in one of the seats taken from the plane, writing a tiny book, probably a journal. The seat itself was placed in the surf, looking out into the ocean. Since she was alone, I decided to talk to her.

"Morning, Claire," I greeted her as I came over.

She looked up at me. "Hello! Sleep well?"

I grunted. "Not really. I'm a creature of habit. If I'm not sleeping in my own bed, I have difficulty sleeping."

"I can sleep anywhere," Claire told me with a slight smile. "It's probably because I'm eight months pregnant."

I noticed that the cut on her chin she'd acquired in the crash yesterday was starting to scab. Good. It meant she was recovering without to many ill effects.

"Hungry?" I asked her, looking out into the ocean. We really were in the middle of nowhere. Just blue as far as the eye could see.

"I'm famished," she replied honestly. I suspected as much. She was pregnant, making her unable to find her own food easily and craving energy. "Hurley said he'd bring me something soon, but he hasn't shown up yet."

"Care for a snack?" I asked. She nodded, so I fished the peanuts out of my back pocket and gave them a nice easy toss. Claire managed to catch them with one hand.

"Its not much more than a mouthful, but I figure its better than nothing."

She pulled at the bag for a while until she finally managed to get it open. "Thanks, Alec. I can't really get much in this stage."

Feeling a bit embarrassed by her thanks, I waved it away. "I'm just doing what any half decent person would do."

She looked at me in a very strange way. "Its a pity I haven't met more 'half decent' people." I stood next to her for a while as she ate. The waves of the ocean lashed, sending the surf over my ankles, soaking my shoes. It was chilly, but warmer than I expected.

"How's the baby?" I asked at length, partially to make conversation and partially from concern. I like kids and I was hoping the little guy was okay.

"He hasn't moved since the crash," Claire told me honestly, not looking at me as she said it.

"Probably just resting up," I replied, "it's been a tough day."

Claire nodded, rubbing her bulge protectively.

It was then when I heard the rumble and noticed the sky. It had gotten very dark very fast, with storm clouds fast covering the sky.

Claire looked up in surprise, shock etched onto her pretty face. "What's going on?"  
"Rain, I think," I responded. Just like that, it began to pour. The rain had rolled up out of nowhere, hammering down on us. It wasn't the warmest rain I'd ever been in, to say the least.

Claire closed her journal, holding it in one hand, trying to shield it from the rain. The task was easier said than done.

I helped Claire out of the chair and we headed back towards the wreckage of the plane for shelter. Claire wasn't moving very fast but I didn't mind. I liked the rain.

The sand was fast turning into a slippery mess and Claire wasn't the most stable of people, so out of courtesy I maintained my grip on her hand. I won't lie and say I didn't enjoy it, but more importantly she seemed grateful for the assistance. All around us people were shouting and running around, trying to raise tarps or find shelter. All except the old guy who'd helped us with the tourniquet man. He sat, legs crossed, in the pouring rain, eyes closed and a look of contentment on his face.

The thunder was roaring and the rain pelting harder as I finally helped Claire under one of the planes wings. It was uncomfortably crowded but dry. I relinquished my grip on her hand, looking out at the old man.

He leaned back and stretched his arms out to the heavens, a beaming smile on his face. My own love of the rain was stirred and I decided to go out.

As I took a step out of the wing, Claire asked me, "Alec, what are you bloody well doing?" A look of concern was on her face.

I smiled back at her. "I'm going for a stroll." She just rolled her eyes at me. Taking a few steps away from the wing I found myself standing on the beach, near the old man, still blissfully enjoying the weather as I was. I turned my face to the heavens, letting the rain wash the soot and grim away. I was actually having fun.

Well, until the trees started falling again. That chilled me to the bone more than the rain ever could. I looked back along the tree line, seeing more of the great palms falling amongst the growling. Feeling rather frightened by this, I dashed back over under the wing with the others. Strength in numbers, right?

"There it is again," Claire muttered staring at the rapidly collapsing tree line. I found myself hoping that it came no closer. This island was not looking up to be a very pleasant host.

* * *

Just as suddenly as it had begun, the rain ended. I hadn't really kept track of the time. It may have been five hours; it may have been five minutes. All I know is that we saw no other sign of the monster. That was something to be grateful for.

The people gathered under the plane scattered all over the beach. I guess being arm to arm with multiple people for an extended period of time makes everyone a bit Claustrophobic. It was Boone's idea to sort through the suitcases to try and find everyone's luggage, to make our wait easier. Everyone was pitching in. Well, everyone except Claire, who needed the rest, and Shannon, who contented herself by sunbathing on the beach.

_Self-centered arrogant . . ._

We'd been on the island about a day now and I'd already decided I wasn't particularly fond of her. On her side, she didn't seem to care what anyone else thought.

We found Hurley's stuff and Claire's stuff. We didn't find my bag. I was starting to smell foul and had nothing to change into. Still, I contented myself with the knowledge that there were others who smelled just as bad as I did.

My nose was starting to sting again and my eyes were getting sore from constantly squinting, I had no changes of clothing and nothing to entertain myself with. Definitely not my greatest vacation. Still, it beat being dead. Beat it by a long shot.

More time passed as we kept sorting through the luggage. I had found yet another suitcase that wasn't mine when I noticed the southern man and Sayid were speaking loudly, and not in a pleasant way.

"How dare you assume because of my nationality that I caused the plane crash? How dare you?" Sayid roared, jabbing a finger at the blond man.

"I dare a lot when I'm trying to protect myself from a terrorist! I don't intend to die like the man sitting next to you!" came the snappy reply.

"I'm a man of honor," Sayid snapped at him. "I'm not a terrorist! Though, to a redneck, it would seem that everyone with an accent is a killer!"

"Look here, Osama!" the American stated. "I don't trust anyone who sits in a back row, hands hidden, who clearly fits the profile!"

It was then that Sayid hit him, right in the face. The American leaned back from the force of the blow before snapping back and throwing his weight behind a punch of his own. Sayid was bleeding a little, but I was confident that my Arabic friend could take him.

"Hey guys, come on," the Black man implored as the American dove at Sayid. The Arab dodged aside, landing a blow on the back of the blond man's head as he did so. The man hit the sand face first. He rose angrily, cursing and spitting sand before swinging again. Sayid ducked the wild blow and hammered a very precise strike into the man's kidney. He fell onto one knee, grimacing in pain.

Sayid moved in, when the redneck hurled some sand in his face, blinding him. The American was on top of him in an instant, punching him in the face.

It was then that the trio returned from the woods. Jack went running into the centre screaming at them to break it up. The Black man and I dashed in, pulling Sayid back as Jack restrained the American.

The pair was screaming at each other racist slurs, insults and put-downs. As I struggled to hold Sayid back I could make out him screaming, "Tell everyone what you told me!"

"The shoe fits, buddy!" was the reply.

"What is going on?" Jack asked, sounding very exasperated. We let go of Sayid who proceeded to go into an angry sounding tangent in Arabic. The blond guy wasn't better off, gesturing angrily.

"What's going on?" Jack asked again with a lot more force.

"Look man, my kid found these in the jungle," the Black guy added, handing Jack something that I could just see. It was a pair of handcuffs. Someone on this plane had been handcuffed.

Not good.

Jack took them as the American pointed an accusing finger at Sayid. "And this guy was sitting in the back row of Business Class the whole flight, hands folded under a blanket. And," he added throwing his hands up, " just pointing this out! The guy next to him didn't make it."

"Thank you so much for observing my behaviour," Sayid snapped back at him, barely containing his rage.

"You don't think I saw them pull you out of line before we boarded," the American yelled at Sayid, sending the Arab flying at him with rage. It was all the black guy and I could do to hold him back.

"Bring it!" the American roared as Jack held him down. The pair was trying to get at each other, to beat one or the other to death.

"Stop!" the female voice echoed across the beach. It was Jack's brunette friend. The two men threw their hands up and backed off, glaring daggers at each other.

"We found the transceiver, but its not working," she continued, speaking in a normal tone. "Can anybody help?"

There was a silence that descended as the survivors looked on blankly. It was Sayid who finally spoke. "Yes. I might be able too."

"Oh great, perfect!" the American said with obvious sarcasm. "Let's trust _this_ guy!"

"Hey!" Hurley interrupted. "We're all in this together, man. Let's treat each other with a little respect—"

"Shut up, Lardo!" the American yelled, cutting him off.

"Hey!" I spoke up. "Why don't you . . ." I strode forward, determined to beat this guy myself. Jack put a hand on me and shook his head, sending me an "I'll handle it" look.

"Give it a break," he told the American simply, looking at him.

The blond man stared at Jack for a moment, defiant. "Whatever you say, Doc," he told him. "You're the hero."

He stormed off down the beach, shoving someone out of his way, not looking back.

An awkward silence fell over the survivors. "You found the cockpit?" Boone asked, coming out of the crowd. Jack nodded. "Any survivors?"  
I saw Charlie and the brunette look at each other, in a way that implied that they weren't letting on all they knew.

"No," Jack replied, shaking his head. Boone looked down but said nothing.

The crowd interspersed, with Jack heading off to look at the shrapnel guy and Sayid moving off to try and fix the transceiver.

I approached Charlie. "So, what really happened?" I asked him.

"What do you mean?" He answered a little quickly.

"You gave her this look before Jack said no," I told him simply. "I can't fix anything or do much, but I know people."

The woman looked at him and told me, "The pilot was still breathing when we arrived."

"And you are?" I asked, with a head nod.

"Kate," she replied with a nod of her own. "He said we were hundreds of miles off course, our communication dead. Then the monster got him. Yanked him straight out of the cockpit. Didn't get a good look at it."

"And why are you trusting me with this?" I asked them. "That fact we were off course and all that? I could blab and start a panic."

"I don't think you will," Charlie said. "You seem to have done alright so far. Besides," he said looking a little sheepish, "you would have figured it out on your own."

"Good to see you back in one piece, Charlie," I told him, clapping his shoulder. "Nice meeting you, Kate," I told her and headed back to the beach, hoping to find something interesting to do.


	4. Chapter 4 Pills and Stuff

**Chapter 4**

"**Pills and Stuff"**

_I wish I had that kind of courage. To face down monsters and jungles for the good of everyone._

I shook my head. Lets face it, I wasn't one of the more useful people on this island, no matter what delusions I may have had. I was bored again so I figured I'd look around and check in on people. See how Sayid was doing with the transceiver, check on Hurley, make sure Claire was getting enough rest and enough to eat.

The people on the beach didn't have much interaction with each other, mostly staying in small clumps with people they knew. Not Hurley, I saw him speaking with Sayid, away from the main crowd. Sayid was sitting in front of a stack of suitcases serving as a makeshift table, pieces of the transceiver scattered atop it. Hurley sat next to him, the pair looking out into the ocean as Sayid worked.

Hurley saw me coming over and waved at me. "Hey, Alec. Wanting away from the crowd?"

"You could say that," I replied, looking back in the direction of the yank, taking a pull on the cigarette in his mouth.

_I hope you die of lung cancer._

Hurley saw my gaze and snorted. "Tell me about it, big jerk."  
"You okay, man?" I asked the guy who was fast tracking his way into the best friend area. I didn't like it much when people were picked on due to physical appearance. It reminded me too much of my younger years.

"About him calling me fat? Dude, I hear it all the time. It'll take more than that to get under my skin." He turned his gaze back out to the ocean, studying the horizon, "Thanks for your concern though, man, its appreciated."

I nodded, the line of conversation quickly getting awkward. Hurley decided to change the subject. "Did you know our mutual friend here served as a communications officer in the army?" Hurley asked, gesturing at Sayid.

"No way!" I said in a tone of respectful shock. "That's awesome!"

Sayid looked up from his work to give me a sad little smile. "Not really, no." He went back to looking at his work.

_Wonder what he meant by that? _

It seemed that everyone on this island had things they didn't feel like sharing, myself included. I wasn't sure if I wanted to find them out.

* * *

Claire was still healthy, that was something. She'd told me that the baby still hadn't moved. She tried to pass it off as nothing but I could see the concern in her eyes. I smiled at her, trying to give her hope I myself didn't feel. Being strong for others isn't fun.

I was horrifically bored. There was absolutely nothing to do. Out of sheer dull boredom I began poking around at some of the bags and wreckage, hoping to find something interesting. I still hadn't given up hope of finding my bag, but more and more I'd begun to suspect that the Yankee had it.

I'd already decided I wasn't going to find anything interesting when I stubbed my toe on something half buried in the sand. I grunted, more curious than angry. Bending down and squinting out of my one eye I managed to make out some sort of square shape. I picked it up, brushing the sand off of it, full of curiosity. It was flat and heavier than I thought.

Devoid of sand it revealed itself to be a chessboard, one made out of marble. The board was a little scarred and cracked but still in usable condition.

The idea of the board gave me an idea. Falling down to my knees I began frantically scrambling around trying to find the pieces.

My hand brushed through a sand dune, finding the white bishop. I held it up, gazing at the piece. It was made of a clear plastic, stronger than it looked. I decided then and there to find as many of the pieces as I could. An empty razor bag proved to be the perfect storage device for the pieces.

I'd just picked up the second black knight when he made himself known. "Looking for your lost contact, String-Bean?"  
I turned to see the American sitting comfortably on a piece of plane wreck, smoking the same cigarette.

"No," I replied, turning back to my quest, "Why? You seen it?"

He blew a miniature smoke cloud. "Maybe." I'd really grown to hate that word, especially when coming from this man. I still didn't know his name, but most of me was happy with that. It's easier to hate someone you don't know. Mind you, this guy would be pretty easy to hate even if you knew his name. He certainly made no effort to be liked.

I decided to take a breather. I'd managed to find slightly more than half of the pieces, more than I expected. There weren't nearly enough to play with yet, but I was making progress.

The Southerner was gone again. No doubt he'd gone off to loot something else or torment someone else. I was happy with this arrangement. I'd had quite enough of being tormented for one day.

That's when Hurley approached me. "Hey, dude, busy?" he asked me.

"No, why?" I replied, eager for something to do.

"I, uh, need your help with something," he told me. "Well, Jack needs my help and it'd go faster if you helped me. Interested?"

_Sounds way more fun than sitting around doing nothing._

"Love to. What are we doing, exactly?" I asked Hurley as we began walking towards the luggage.

"Jack said he needs prescription drugs. You know, pills and stuff. The kind that ends in 'cillin,' I think. Anti-something's."

I popped open a suitcase, half hoping it was mine. It wasn't. Not to mention it was devoid of pills. So was the next case, and the one after that.

The fourth was a jackpot. Judging by the clothes in it, the owner of the case was probably ninety. Since I knew the faces of all the survivors and none of them looked close to that age, I figured I could use them.

Old people usually have lots of pills, and this guy wass no exception. A quick rummage through the suitcase revealed about three vials full of them. I wasn't sure if any of them were the kind Jack needed but I figured that he'd be grateful for anything I could find.

I managed to find a few more, adding them to Hurley's own modest collection. We soon had about thirty or so vials and bags, full of every color of pill imaginable.

"Well, at least one of these should work," I said, my voice deadpan.

"Dude, that was harder than I thought."

"What's Jack want this stuff for anyway?" I asked Hurley, my curiosity getting the better of me.

"I dunno," he replied, shrugging elaborately. "Some kind of medical thingy, I guess."

That was as good an answer as any, so I shrugged in kind and handed him the pills.

Hurley nodded his thanks, beginning his trot over towards Jack.

I heard the sound of rapid movement approaching from behind me so I turned to see who was rushing me. Sprinting as fast as her eight months of pregnancy would allow, Claire sprinted towards me. Well, it was more of a fast waddle than a sprint, not bad considering the baggage. She was beaming, her face radiating joy. "Alec! Alec!" She cried as she heading in my direction as swiftly as she could.

"What is it, Claire?" I managed to get out before she grabbed my wrist and forced it onto her belly. I was stammering out to her, what in Heaven's name she was doing when she shushed me.

"Feel that!" She yelled at me jubilantly, holding my hand against her enlarged belly.

Nothing for a moment, then I felt it. Defiantly a kick, followed by another and then another as the little guy squirmed around in his mother's womb.

"That's a kick, alright, probably attached to a foot." I replied attempting to sound deadpan.

Claire was giggling in her happiness. "He's okay! He's okay!" Her giggling fit continued a bit longer.

"I'm glad the little tyke's okay. Looks like you've got a champion rugby player in there," I told her, cocking a half-smile.

Maybe rugby was her dream or maybe it was the hormones. Anyway she grabbed me in a tight embrace, laughing and crying simultaneously.

Tentatively, I put my arms around her, holding her. Her enlarged belly forced us a few inches apart but it was okay, I have long arms.

After about a moment of this, she let go of me, a little embarrassed over her outburst. She smiled at me again and then went on her merry way, whistling a little as she did so.

_Oh man._

Fighting hard, I managed to force the blushing off of my cheeks. I was glad that Claire's baby was okay. I have a soft spot for kids.

_Maybe I should see if Jack needs my help. Yeah, that might be good._

I made my way over in the direction that Hurley had gone with the pills. It was somewhat secluded from the rest of the beach, perfect for his operations.

I arrived to see Jack trying to reach for some strips of cloth over the unconscious form of Hurley. The big man was passed out, lying on top of the shrapnel guy. Jack was cursing rather fluently.

"Hey, Alec!" he called at me; both his hands occupied trying to stop the blood flow. The towels he held were stained with blood, blood that was freely flowing from the man's open wounds. "Pass me some of those strips. The blood was too much for Hurley!"

Praying that the blood wouldn't be too much for me, I headed over. I passed Jack the fresh strips without comment. The doc nodded his thanks to me, switching the soiled linens for the fresh ones.

"He going to be okay?" I asked him, trying not to sound fazed by the blood. I have a weak stomach and low pain tolerance, even if it's other people's pain.

"He should be," Jack replied, "if I can keep the bleeding controlled. Hopefully the medicine that you and Hurley picked up will be enough to fight the bacteria."

"Where'd Charlie and Sayid take off too?" I asked changing the subject from the man's fate.

" They went with Kate, Boone and Shannon up into the mountains. Sayid's idea. He figured that if they were able to get to a higher angle then maybe the transceiver could pick up a signal."

"Do you think it will?" I asked, crouched next to the man who's chest was formally the resting place for a piece of shrapnel.

Jack shrugged, not looking up. That's when the formally unconscious man's eyes snapped open and his hand grasped Jack's collar.

"Where . . . is she?" he rasped out, with the voice of a dying man.

I sat there, stunned. Jack tried talking with him.

"Who?" he asked in that calm doctor's voice.

"She's . . . she's dangerous," he grinded out from between clenched teeth. His grip on Jack's collar loosened and he fell back. His head hit the makeshift pillow and he passed out again.

"Is he supposed to do that?" I asked Jack stupidly.

"No, he's not," was the reply.

"Who do you think 'she' is?" I enquired, looking at the man as if he was going to recover again.

"Haven't a clue," Jack replied, turning back to the work.

* * *

Jack sent me away soon after that. I'm not sure why. Maybe he thought I couldn't handle the man's outbursts, but I doubted it. More likely he was afraid that this guy would say something he didn't want me to hear. That, of course, infuriated me, so I decided to stick around, hidden, and listen in on the surgery.

The man was thrashing around. Clearly he was still alive, though he didn't look too comfortable. Most of his ramblings were impossible to understand, but the stuff I could pick out was what I expected. "Don't trust her . . . she's dangerous," he rasped out for about the eightieth time.

Jack was used to hearing this by now. "Just try not to move your head, okay?" His calm doctor voice was out.

"Have to find her, she's dangerous," he continued, in his single-minded determination. Whoever this woman was, she had to have made some kind of impact. This guy was clearly some sort of cop or FBI agent, judging by his build and the expensive nature of his suit.

"I have to . . . have to . . . bring her back," he murmured, his erratic movements continuing.

"Yeah, you keep saying that," Jack replied, a trace of irritation creeping into his voice, "except every time I ask who it is you pass out." He seemed more to be talking to himself then to the man. "With the way your fever's running, I imagine you have no idea who you're talking about."

"My cuffs," he murmured deliriously, "where are my handcuffs?" At that my ears perked up. I remembered the handcuffs the black guy had shown us during Sayid's fight. I leaned a little bit forward, keeping myself hidden in the bush.

"What?" Jack asked.

"Jacket pocket!" the man ordered with as much strength as he could. "Jacket pocket!"

"Alright," Jack replied, moving over to pick at the man's jacket. The man kept muttering about her being dangerous as Jack pulled a folded piece of paper out of the jacket pocket. Jack's expression changed to one of shock and disbelief as he gazed at it. He traced the paper with his hands. My curiosity was killing me as I slipped away from my hiding spot. I had to see what was on that paper, and I would. It was just a matter of timing.

The people on the beach were again poking through suitcases. I didn't bother. I'd given up all hope of ever seeing my bag again. I was getting pretty good at looking out of one eye now.

* * *

The rest of the day passed uneventful. The team that had gone on the walkabout didn't return. Nothing overly bad happened; the wounded guy didn't get better.

"So you hear about the monster that ate the pilot?" Hurley asked me as we rigged one of the tarps we'd found to make a shelter of sorts to sleep under. We were pooling our resources and efforts to make it big enough for a few people to sleep under comfortably: me, Hurley, Claire if she wanted, anyone else who felt like it.

"Charlie told me something about it before he took off," I replied, pulling down on the rope to raise the tarp higher. "Didn't get a good look at it."

"What'd you think it is?" Hurley asked with a grunt as he pulled on his end.

"A giant spider," I replied after a pause. "You know like in the Lord of the Rings? Shelob? Yeah that's what it is." Truth be told, I didn't have a clue, but a giant spider seemed as good an idea as any.

"I think it's a dinosaur," Hurley stated, full of confidence. "From what Charlie said, the way the pilot was yanked out of his seat sounded like the work of a T-Rex to me, dude. No spider could do that."

I nodded at his point, giving a final tug on my wire. The bright blue tarp rolled into its place above the poles we'd managed to set up. With my knowledge of old-style tents and Hurley's ability to find what we needed we'd gotten a pretty good shelter, at least if it rained we'd be dry.

"How do you think Claire's holding up?" I asked Hurley, taking a break from our efforts.

"Dunno, dude," Hurley replied, taking a seat. "Seems fine to me. Why? You like her or something?"  
The question made me blush something awful. "What? No," I replied, a bit too defensively. "I've only know her for two days! But Jack said to keep an eye on her and stuff. So, you know, I want to make sure she's okay." That was a weak excuse and even I knew it.

"Yeah, whatever dude," he answered, getting up from his seat. "Maybe we should pop in on Jack. See how he's doing with the wounded guy."

I nodded, not seeing much else to do at the moment. Jack had established a bit of a shelter himself, keeping his patient under it.

"So what do _you_ think the monster was?" Hurley asked Jack as soon as he saw him. I mentally facepalmed. Not the most diplomatic thing to say.

Jack shrugged, not looking at Hurley. "I don't know." He didn't sound like he cared overly much.

"Do you think it was a dinosaur?" Hurley continued, following Jack as he moved towards his patient. I tagged along, curious about the conversation.

"It wasn't a dinosaur," Jack replied without much enthusiasm, still not looking at Hurley.

"So you didn't see it?" Hurley inquired, seeming very focused on this line of thought.

Jack sighed, his exasperation apparent. "No, I didn't see it."

"Then how do you know it wasn't a dinosaur?"

"Because dinosaurs are extinct, Hurley," Jack replied, shooting down the big man's theory.

"Oh," Hurley replied, looking dumbfounded.

Trying to spare my friend any more embarrassment I enquired after the guy. "How's our wounded friend?"

"Not dead yet," Jack answered honestly. "Not getting any better though."

"What's his story anyway?" Hurley asked picking up on our thread. "He looks kinda . . ." Hurley paused, searching for the right word, "Dying."

"He's not dying," Jack replied without hesitation, sounding very stubborn.

"Dude, he's yellow," Hurley answered, sounding unconvinced. It was hard to deny that one. The man was a sickly yellow color.

"His wound's infected, but the anti-bodies I gave him should fight off the infection," Jack explained.

"But what if they don't?" Hurley continued doggedly.

"Well," Jack shrugged his shoulders, "then his body shuts down."

"That makes him dead, right?" I asked, just to be certain. Jack nodded his affirmative.

_That was a stupid question._

Hurley was gazing down at the guy, concern etched on his face. "He looks like he's in pain."

"Oh yeah," Jack replied. I could only imagine what this guy was going through. It probably made my broken nose seem like nothing. Scratch that, I knew it did.

Hurley headed over to the makeshift table, just kind of wandering. That's when he found the piece of paper that I'd wanted to get a look at. I was by his side in a second, "What's that?"

"No idea, dude," Hurley replied, unfolding the paper. What we saw on it shocked us both.

"Dude," Hurley breathed at me.

On the paper was a picture of Kate, but not just any picture. It was a mug shot. Kate looked every inch the criminal she apparently was, a grim look etched on her pretty face. That picture proved to me who our wounded guy had been talking about.

Jack saw us looking at the paper. He didn't look too happy for us.

"Uh, dude?" Hurley whispered at Jack, holding the page with the mug shot facing him. "Uh," was Hurley's only syllable.

Jack stood and strode over to us in three quick steps. He took the paper from Hurley's hand, folded it and put it in his pocket.

"What do you think she did?" Hurley asked the question that I myself was wondering.

Jack started walking away. "It's none of my business," he shot back.

"Actually, Jack, it is our business," I told him sharply. "What if she's a psycho or a terrorist or something? She could kill us all! We need to know what she did!"

"Alec, we've got far more important things to worry about than what some of us may have done before coming to the island. Like surviving." Jack's tone was sharp, he clearly didn't want arguments on this.

I just wasn't willing to let it go. "We'll have a much harder time surviving with a criminal in our midst! We have to know! The others do, too!"

"No they don't." Jack replied sharply. "We don't know what she did, and we don't know why. Until then we aren't telling anyone that Kate's got a mug shot. Understand?" He gazed meaningfully at Hurley and I.

We both nodded our affirmative. He was right about one thing, the last thing we needed to do was scare the others. That being said, I didn't intend to trust Kate, ever.

"She looked pretty hardcore to me," Hurley said, looking into the night.

"Very," I replied. "Listen, I think I'm going to ask Claire if she wants to sleep under the tarp tonight, as well as anyone else I can. Strength in numbers, right?" I told the guy.

"Yeah," Hurley replied, sounding nervous as he followed me. "Not a bad idea."


	5. Chapter 5 Our Menu Lacks Options

**Chapter 5**

"**Our Menu Lacks Options"**

"No way!" Claire gasped, eyes wide. "You guys built a tent?" I had no idea she'd be so impressed with our tarp rigging skills.

"It's more of a lean-to actually," I said, not wanting her to anticipate a marquee and instead get a tarp and some trees. "No walls."

"It beats sleeping out where there's rain and whatnot," she answered, looking very pleased. "How'd you guys do it?"

"Well," I told her, trying not to sound too smug. "I got the idea from the old canvas wedge tents used in the British Army. You know, Napoleonic war?" Claire nodded, but didn't speak. "Well, Hurley liked the idea, so we went out and found a massive tarp that no one had claimed. With a bit of work we set it up as a shelter. It can hold about," I paused, mentally reviewing the shelter in my mind, "eight people comfortably. More if we squeeze."

"That's brilliant!" Claire continued, beaming like a happy child. She seemed rather impressed with the ingenuity shown by Hurley and myself. I have to admit, I felt very good about myself at the moment.

"How'd you learn to do that sort of thing?" Claire asked me, sounding intrigued.

"Uh, my old man," I said, looking into the darkness. " He was a big history buff. Took me on a lot of living history events. I learned a lot about tents, but I never thought it'd come in handy."

"He sounds like a good dad," Claire stated warmth in her voice.

"Was," I replied very defensively. I could see Claire wince and I felt bad about the strength of my reaction.

"Sorry," Claire told me hesitantly. "Touched a nerve."

I waved it away. "No worries, Claire." We sat in silence for a while.

"Why me?" Claire asked after a while. "I'm the first person invited under your tarp. Why?"

_Because you're a beautiful woman, with a wonderful laugh and a smile like sunshine. Because I admire your courage as a single mother to keep the baby rather than taking the easy way out and getting an abortion._

"Well you have the extra baggage," I told her, nodding at the growing baby inside of her, "but more importantly I know you. I'd rather people who are fast becoming my friends get first crack at the place than total strangers."

That answer seemed to satisfy her. "Well, I'll definitely take you up on your offer. I guess I'll be moving my blanket to this tarp of yours."

"Can't take all the credit," I told her, trying to remain modest about the whole thing. "Hurley was a big help."

Claire began the effort to rise, not as easy as it sounds for a woman eight months pregnant. I offered her my hand, which she took after a second's hesitation. With a little effort I was able to get her to her feet. She bent to pick up her blanket.

"I can take that for you," I told her, not wanting her to strain herself.

"I can carry my own blanket you know," Claire replied with a snort, "I'm not an invalid."

Feeling like an idiot I managed to stammer a reply, "Sorry."  
_It was a stupid thing to imply._

As I began showing Claire the way to the tent-tarp I sent another glance into the dark around us as the second night fell. I was hoping to see Charlie and Sayid, as well as the others, return safely. They didn't.

Hurley had found some others, so our tarp covering was a bit snug, but not uncomfortable. I took the Bolero out of the fat man's suitcase I'd claimed as mine for now. Once again, it went over my eyes to form a makeshift barrier.

Before I drifted away, I heard Hurley snuffling like a bear and Claire giving much smaller and more lady-like snores. I was at least comfortable under the tarp. I had a far better night's sleep.

* * *

It was around mid-morning when the others returned from their hike. I was hoping they'd managed to pick up a signal. One look at Charlie's grim expression told me all I needed to know.

"Any luck?" I asked him as the companions entered camp.

"What do you think?" he replied grumpily.

I didn't bother to answer that question. It seemed pointless.

"Find anything interesting, at least?" I asked, hoping they'd stumbled over my suitcase.

"We found a bloody hill. Does that count?" came the sarcastic reply. "It was a long climb. For nothing, I might add. Shame, I already said that." The words leaked out of his mouth with a venomous tinge.

I decided not to press Charlie any further; he didn't seem to be in the mood. By this point a crowd had gathered around Sayid, who appeared to be the makeshift leader of the little band. To my great surprise, I saw that the American had gone on the hike with the others. Odd, he didn't strike me as a man who'd willingly risk his neck to help his fellows. Filing the thought away for later, I joined the crowd. They were listening to Sayid give a report on the party's success, or lack thereof. Charlie stood behind the Arab, giving him the appearance of a bodyguard, albeit a very short one.

"As you all know," Sayid began, "A few of us went up the mountain in an attempt to help the rescue team locate us." He paused, took a breath and continued. "The transceiver failed to pick up a signal. We weren't able to send a call for help." At this the crowd groaned aloud and went to the edge of full-blown panic. At any moment a spark would ignite and the madness would begin. I began glancing around on the beach for a rock to use as a weapon. When panic sets in, fights start. The combat wouldn't be pretty. _I could work my way over to Charlie and Sayid and we could fend them off. But what about Claire? She wouldn't stand a chance in outburst like this._

Fortunately Sayid sensed the tension and threw the survivors a bone. "But we're not giving up!" He waved his arms to emphasize the point he was making. "If we gather your electronic equipment," he began listing off on his fingers, "Cell-phones, laptops, anything, I can boost the signal and we can try again!" He quieted down after that, his tone becoming less passion driven and more logical. "But that may take some time, so for now we should begin rationing our remaining food. If it rains we should set up tarps to collect water. We need to organize three separate groups. Each group should have a leader. One group will organize water. I'll lead that. Who'll organize electronics?" Someone in the crowd of onlookers raised a hand. "You? Good. Rationing Food?" Someone else volunteered for that. "Good." His three group leaders picked, Sayid continued.

"Everyone should begin to work right away. We need this done quickly for the sake of our continued survival. Everyone needs to be working on this. If you don't know what to do, come see me, but try to find something you're good at." Sayid then began to give safety tips. "Don't go out into the jungle alone. Always stay in teams. Stay out of the sun if you can help it. We need to conserve our water supply. Keep your eyes open for anything that may come in useful, no matter what task force you're with. We'll need all the salvage we can get. Questions?" After a chorus of no's and shaken heads, he clapped his hands. "Let's move."

The people began to disband in separate groups. Me? I had no idea what to do with myself. Glancing around for anything that might spark my interest, I noticed Jack and Kate going off alone.

_She's probably filling him out on the details._

A black object lying in the sand caught my wandering gaze. Stooping down to retrieve it revealed what it was. The black queen from the chess set! Slipping the piece into my pocket I felt my spirits lift. Whistling Drive Shaft's Burn under my breath, I decided to go over to the food people and see if they needed my help.

Claire was already over with some others doing what should could. A quick glance could tell me that we were not doing so well supply wise.

"Hello! Come to give us a hand?" Claire called to me cheerfully, her Aussie accent making the words seem particularly bouncy.

"Why not? Seems interesting enough," I replied with a shrug. The teams were sorting the two remaining food carts into piles of appropriate food types, along with any spare snacks found among suitcases.

"That had to have been the worst chicken I've ever tasted," Claire said, her tone not wavering as she put a pair of tinfoil wrapped meals marked—quite logically considering their contents—_Chicken_ into one pile as she said this.

"It'd probably taste better heated up," I mentioned, taking up a few snack sized peanut bags and tossing them in a snacks pile.

"Marginally," Claire answered me trying to keep a straight face. I looked at her in mock seriousness for about two seconds until she cracked up and started giggling. This broke my composure and I also started laughing like an idiot. The others working away at food duty looked at us like we were crazy but I didn't care.

"It was a choice between potato salad mush, flabby chicken and meat flavoured lasagna. Emphasis on the word flavoured," I joked, chuckling at the joke.

"It's better than starving to death," Claire pointed out.

"True that," I replied without much enthusiasm.

I looked at our meager pile, it seems there was a lot less of the tinfoil wrapped meals than there had been before. Maybe one, maybe two meals left per person, and then we'd be scrapping the bottom of the barrel for supplies.

"Well the peanuts are good at any rate," I pointed out. "I had some for breakfast yesterday morning," I muttered the second part under my breath. "Pity we're almost out of those."

"I love peanuts," Claire said, "and peanut brittle, and peanut butter, and peanut butter cookies, and, well, anything peanut related!" She sighed dreamily, looking off into space.

_She must really have a craving for sweets, what with being pregnant and all, yet she carries on like nothings bothering her. She has so much courage. I wish I was more like her._

I brushed my hand idly through the sand, attempting to write poems in it, or make shapes. They both looked the same.

"What're you doing?" Claire asked with a slightly amused smile.

"I'm playing in the dirt, what does it look like?" I replied. Normally I'd give the last bit sarcastically but when I was around Claire . . . I didn't want to hurt her in any way, no matter how small or how meaningless.

_The heat's probably getting to me._

My hand brushed across the white pawn. "Yes!" I pumped my fist in the air happily.

Claire raised an eyebrow at my outburst. No one else bothered to look at me.

I tossed the pawn at her, which she caught one handed with surprisingly good reflexes. "It's a pawn," she pointed out, holding up the piece for emphasis. "White side, normal sized."

"I found a chess set," I told her, "Well part of one, anyway. I've been looking for the pieces for a while now." I rubbed my head. "I was a bit of a player myself, and since I can't find my bodhran . . ."

"Your what?" Claire asked me, sounding curious. She tossed the piece back to me, which I proceeded to store in the razor bag.

_Of course, Aussie. She wouldn't have a clue about Irish stuff._

"A bodhran," I explained to her, "is an ancient, hand-held, Irish drum." I held out one hand, clenched in a fist. "You hold it in one hand and play it with a double-headed stick you hold in the other." I began making a beating motion. "I'm not half bad at it."

"So you play an instrument?" Claire asked again. I nodded.

"I packed it in my suitcase, figured I might have some down time." I laughed. "The ironic thing is I have all the downtime in the world and I've lost my drum. Pity."

"Really, it is, "Claire replied.

A familiar heavy sounding footstep alerted me to Hurley's arrival. "Hey, Dude, Jack needs our help again. He's moving stuff around. Busy?"

I looked back at the now sorted food. "No, not particularly." Rising to my feet, I waved goodbye to Claire. She smiled at me and leaned back. I followed Hurley to Jack, not asking what the doctor wanted now.

He had set up a tent of some sort, in a manner similar to the one Hurley and I had designed. The tent was already full of the meager medical supplies that Jack had managed to acquire from the plane crash and the luggage. Jack himself was standing over beside a row of plane seats he'd taken from the crash.

"Can you guys give me a hand with this?" he asked, waving us over, "figured I could work better if my patients had a place to sit down."

I nodded. Hurley was a bit more vocal.

"No problem, dude. Do you want us to bunch up on this end then?"

"You and Alec take that side, and I'll take this one," Jack ordered, pointing to the specified sides.

Hurley and me took ours, and Jack his and we began to waddle over in the direction of the makeshift clinic. The chairs were heavier than they looked.

"So what'd she say?" Hurley asked, trying to make conversation.

"She didn't say anything," Jack replied, quickly and very defensively. I found myself very much doubting that she hadn't said anything.

We kept moving the trio of chairs as Hurley kept going on. "But you told her you knew?" He said it like it was a given.

"I don't know anything," Jack replied after a pause.

"We know she's a con," I threw my hat in the ring, "A pretty serious one to warrant a guy like him escorting her."

"And the guy keeps mumbling about her being dangerous over and over," Hurley added. Clearly we were of one mind about this.

"It's not my business," Jack told us stubbornly, repeating the same argument he'd used before as we put the trio of seats in his tent. "Not my problem," he added, cutting me off, as he started back to the fuselage. Hurley looked at me, and beckoned me to follow, catching up to Jack.

"Yeah you're right," Hurley admitted. "We'll let Johnny Fever take care of her when he gets better."

"Sounds logical to me," I added. It was a compromise, but it seemed as good as I was going to get. Regardless, I was determined to keep an eye on Kate. I didn't trust her at all.

Jack decided to rain on our parade. "He's not going to get better if we don't get some stronger antibiotics."

"Jack, we went through all the suitcases," I told him. "We've got everything." Hurley nodded in agreement.

"What about all of the pills? Do any of them work?" the big man asked.  
"On ear infections and foot fungus," Jack replied professionally. "We need stronger stuff."

"Like Alec said, we went through everything, dude." We stopped walking suddenly, gazing at the fuselage.

"What about the luggage in the overhead compartments?" Jack asked, pointing at the fuselage.

It looked dark and ominous, even in the middle of the day. "You mean, in there?" I asked, nodding in the direction of the fuselage, praying he wasn't thinking what I was thinking.

"That's inside the plane," Hurley muttered connecting the dots like I had.

Jack nodded his agreement to our reasoning.

"But . . . the bodies are in there . . . and they're all . . . dead," Hurley replied without emotion. I cast a glace back at the wreckage, fearing irrationally that the dead would rise out of the plane and come after us.

"I . . . don't do well around dead stuff," I stated, in the same tone as Hurley, fighting the panic.

"Look, I'll handle it. Why don't you two keep an eye on—"

"Yeah I'd love too, on it." Hurley replied taking off in the direction of the shelter. I stood long enough to see Jack walk into the darkened structure, flashlight in hand, before I took off after Hurley.

We sat for a while, looking at the guy. He wasn't a healthy shade of skin tone.

"So, truth," I asked Hurley. "You think he's going to live?"

The big man rested his hand in his chin. "Dunno, Dude, depends on if Jack finds any miracle pills in there." He waved his hand at the wrecked hulk, leaning back in the airplane seat as he did so.

"What this guy needs is a green 1 Up mushroom," I replied, with a gallows tone humor.

"That'd about do it," Hurley nodded in agreement. "Too bad this isn't Super Mario." The guy groaned, thrashed a bit, and then lay still.

"Dude, level with me," Hurley said after a length of time. "You don't think anyone's coming, do you?"

I shook my head. "Hurley, we've been here two days. No one's shown up yet," I said pointedly. "That's not normal."

Hurley nodded, his hair bouncing. "Yeah. I'm just not ready to give up hope yet, man."

"I'm not giving up hope," I said, looking in the back pockets up the airplane seats, "I'm just digging in." My search yielded me some empty wrappers, a pencil and a small book of crosswords.

I sat down in one of the seats, next to Hurley, and flipped the book open to the easiest puzzle. It was half done.

"What's the capital of Spain?" I asked, sticking the end of the pencil in my mouth.

"Spain has a capital?" Hurley asked. Apparently he was no better at these things than I was.


	6. Chapter 6 Dead Men and Rockstars

**Chapter 6**

"**Dead Men and Rock Stars"**

"Dude, what's the name of the great Canadian who played Captain Kirk in Star Trek?" Hurley asked me, scribbling away in the book.

"William Shatner," I replied without hesitation. Hurley wrote the answer down with crisp strokes of his pencil. Hurley and I'd been at it for an hour or two now. We had yet to complete the first page.

The people on the beach had started going through the suitcases again. I saw Claire floundering under the weight of a very large suitcase, one bigger than her tiny frame. The sand was making traction difficult and she was having trouble moving it.

"Hey, I'm going to go look for our stuff okay?" I told Hurley, already moving out of the tent.

"Yeah, whatever, Dude," Hurley replied, not looking up from the crossword puzzle. "What's a five letter word for 'agitation'?"

Claire kept pulling the big suitcase, struggling against the sand. Her eight months of pregnancy wasn't making it any easier.

"It's okay, I got it!" I yelled at her, dashing over as fast as my long legs would allow. Charlie was pushing around a wheel chair weighed down with suitcases. He saw me moving to help Claire, and, being the good guy he was, decided to give us both a hand.

"We've got this!" Charlie told her, gesturing to me. We each picked up an end of the case, and manipulated it onto the wheel chair.

_It's a lot heavier than it looks!  
_"Thanks," Claire said to the both of us.

"Happy to help," I told her honestly.

"Well," Charlie said with a nod to the case, "whoever this belongs to is probably better off than we are." Claire smiled. I started to pull the wheelchair as she stubbornly went forward, grabbing it herself, trying to pull it.

"No, its cool, I've got this! Don't worry!" I told her.

"You remind me of a good roadie!" Charlie said with a chuckle at the sight of me pulling the cart.

"Been around many roadies, have you?" I responded with a grunt.

"Too many," Charlie said nostalgically. "I mean with Drive Shaft . . ."

"You were at a Drive Shaft concert?" I asked in surprise. "I love those guys!"

"I am Drive Shaft!" Charlie told me. "You all everybody!" he sang out, matching my CD perfectly.

I dropped the handles and sat down in reverent awe. "You're Charlie Pace," I muttered stupidly, my mind overwhelmed.

"In the flesh!" he said with a chuckle. "Want something signed?"

Claire was looking at me strangely. "Who's Drive Shaft?"

I looked back at her in surprise. "Drive Shaft is amazing!"

"Drive Shaft is my band!" Charlie said indignantly. "We're pretty famous. Surely you've heard 'You All Everybody'?" Claire shook her head. " 'Oil Change'? 'High Gear'? 'Burn'?" To each of those Claire shook her head.

"You've got to be kidding me," I told her, surprised beyond imagining. "You have to look them up when we get off this island!"

"When we're rescued, I'll see about it," Claire replied smiling.

Charlie took a handle on the wheelchair and the pair of us lugged it along, Claire keeping pace.

"How's the baby?" Charlie asked at length, a grunt punctuating the sentence.

"He's fine! Kicking strongly now," Claire replied happily.

"So your husband. Was he on the flight?" Charlie asked. I winced. Kind of a sensitive subject, even if it wasn't my own.

Claire didn't seem to mind. Evidently she must have heard it a lot. "Actually, I'm not married. "

"Oh," Charlie replied. "Sorry."

"It's alright. I know, I'm so twentieth century," she responded with a laugh and an eye roll.

"Well, who needs men right?" Charlie joked with a smile. "Bloody useless."

"Lazy good-for-nothings who sit around the house all day, drinking beer and watching football. Dreadful!" I told her in mock horror, flinging up my hands in emphasis, like an old woman.

Claire started laughing. "Stop it. Really?"

"This fine comedy duo? Never!" I told her with a laugh of my own.

"We're fantastic, I tell you!" Charlie sketched an imaginary billboard with his hands. "Tonight! For your entertainment! The great Charlie Pace! And the relatively unknown Alec Timm! Performing for your amusement!"

Claire giggled some more, finally calming down. "So, you hiked all the way up there for nothing?"

The grin on Charlie's face vanished. "Yeah, that's right," he told us, very unconvincingly. "Bloody thing didn't work."

"So we're back where we started?" I asked.

"If Sayid's new plan doesn't work? Yes." Charlie and I were back to lugging the cases as he said this, back to the tarp-tent we'd put up.

"So, Charlie, we've saved a spot for you under tarp central. Care for it?" I asked him. "It's sort of temporary until everyone builds their own shelter. Or until we're rescued.

"How thoughtful," Charlie replied at length. "I'd be honored. Look at it this way: now you can say to all of your friends, 'I offered Charlie Pace hospitality! And he accepted'!"

"Terrific," I responded with a smirk. "I still can't believe I met you in person!"

"Well, you've more than met him at this stage," Claire pointed out, smiling.

"We're fellow survivors now! On the same social—or lack thereof—standing!" We deposited the suitcases back in a spot under the tarp set up for luggage. Claire and Charlie began sorting stuff, while I headed back to check on Hurley.

I ran into him rather more literally than I intended. He was a big guy, and my broken nose didn't like colliding with him much. I was on my back in the sand, Hurley in a similar position.

"Dude, I ran into Kate!" Hurley told me in a hushed voice, picking up the empty water bottles he'd spilled when we collide. "I was just stepping out to get more water for fever guy right?" I nodded. "Well, she wants to see Jack and she turns to look at the fuselage?" I nodded; it seemed straight forward enough. "Dude, she's got a gun."

I didn't have an answer. I simply sat there, digesting the information. "We have to tell Jack," I said at length.

"Tell him what?" Hurley replied. "You saw how protective he is of her. He'll spew some line about how it's 'not his problem,' and won't do anything."

"True." It was indeed a dilemma. "Okay, we don't tell him. And we just keep an eye on her. In the meanwhile," I said, raising and brushing myself off, "I'm going to keep an eye on our wounded friend. You can get that water we need."

"Sounds cool, Dude," Hurley replied. "I need some distance from Annie Oakland over there." He nodded in her direction before taking off with the bottles.

I was a good ways away from the medical tarp and felt no real rush. After all, what could happen?

Well, the freaky weather started up again. Pouring rain appearing out of nowhere. In seconds I was soaked to the bone. Sayid had some people setting up spare tarps to collect rain water. As I looked at the tarps I had a ludicrous thought strike me.

_Where did all these tarps come from? Do planes normally have so many tarps?_

I shook the thought from my mind. It wasn't overly important. The rain was bitterly cold but I was determined to keep a positive outlook. That was until I heard the sounds of a struggle. It sounded like two people were fighting inside the tent. Taking off at a sprint, I rushed towards the tent as fast as I could. Mentally I was beating myself up for leaving the guy alone, but we'd deal with guilt later.

I burst into the tent almost simultaneously with Jack. The sight greeting my eyes was a real shocker. Our unconscious friend was throttling Kate with all his strength. Jack started cursing furiously. I grabbed one of the man's arms and Jack took the other. Even with both of us tugging with all our strength, the man had a great grip on Kate's throat. Her face was starting to go blue from lack of oxygen by the time we finally wrenched the man from her throat. He just collapsed, as if drained of energy. Then he started going into convulsions.

"Breathe! Come on!" Jack yelled at the downed man, pounding on his chest. I stood there, feeling like a total idiot and trying hard to look helpful. I cast a glance at Kate. She was on all fours gasping in air, color returning to her face.

The man stopped convulsing, returning to unconsciousness, breathing more or less regularly.

"What did you do?" Jack yelled back at us.

"I just stepped out for a moment . . ." I began, trying to find a way to justify my actions.

"Not you! Kate!" Jack shouted, sounding very peeved.

"I don't know," Kate gasped out. "I was just . . . checking to see if he was okay . . . he jumped me . . ." Her breathing slowly became more regular, as Jack reached past her for one of the water bottles. It had been left out in the rain and was half full. Jack poured some into his hand and began dripping it into the man's mouth.

Warily I officered the other bottle to Kate, keeping an eye on her hands. She took it, drinking in gratefully.

"How is he?" she asked, after chugging the bottle's contents.

"He's not responding to the antibiotics, he's bleeding internally, and his fever's pushing a hundred and four," Jack listed, his calm doctor voice back in place. He poked the man's chest once and added, "and his abdomen's rising."

"Is that bad?" I asked, remaining ignorant to the ways of medicine. I knew I should have paid more attention in science class.

"Yes, Alec, that's very bad," Jack replied simply, not bothering to elaborate. He gave Kate a long, lingering, untrusting look. "He needs water," he stated at length. Then rose, heading out into the pouring rain. Kate and I followed, not sure what else to do.

"What are you going to do?" Kate shouted over the rain.

"About what?" Jack asked, playing dumb.

"About him!" Kate yelled, gesturing pointedly back at the tent.

"I told you! He needs water!" Jack yelled back.

"I think he needs a lot more than water," I muttered.

Unfortunately Jack heard me. "Yes! He needs a lot more than water! But that's all I've got at the moment!" He sound quite angry. I decided to stay shut up.

"Will he suffer?" Kate asked pointedly.

_Well he certainly won't be dancing with joy._

"What?" Jack yelled back, sounding close to losing it.

"Will it be quick?" Kate asked pointedly.

Jack lost it. "No! It won't be quick! Two, three, maybe four days!" He snapped, getting progressively louder.

"And he'll feel it?" Kate persisted, either oblivious to Jack's rising tone of voice and body language or choosing to ignore it. I was very glad I'd decide to stay silent.

"Yeah! He'll feel it!" Jack roared at her. He bent down to refill the water bottle from the now full tarp.

"Can't you put him out of his misery?" Kate asked, dropping the bomb I was anticipating. I drew my breath in sharply. Jack stood slowly, glaring daggers at Kate.

He walked towards her, very stiffly, bent slightly and looked her straight in the eye. "I saw your mug shot, Kate," he told her pointedly and in a brisk tone of voice.

Kate's eyes widened. "I am not a murderer." With that he shoved her aside and marched towards the tent. Kate stood there shivering. It wasn't from the cold. I could swear she was . . . crying.

"Well? What about you?" she turned on me sharply, almost snarling.

I stood there for a second, frozen in terror. "I, uh . . . well . . ."

"You don't trust me either, do you?" Kate asked, almost sounding heartbroken.

"Well . . . no," I answered her simply.

Kate turned and strode away, leaving me standing alone in the pouring rain. I'd decided by this point that I was trapped on this island with a most interesting cast of characters. I wasn't sure how long I'd last.

I found another chess piece during the rainstorm. The sand was displaced by the onrushing water and the white bishop was located. Like it had done earlier, the storm stopped as suddenly as it started, the darkness vanishing in an instant and the sun beaming down.

I decided, since I wasn't needed by anyone for anything at the moment, to do a tally of the chess set I'd been trying so hard to find the pieces for. An unclaimed suitcase, sat on its end proved to be a fine table. I placed the marble board on top of it and deployed all the pieces I had. I was still missing three pawns, two dark and one light, a black bishop and knight, a white rook and the white king. Better than I thought I'd do, but still not enough to play a decent match.

"What'cha got there?" a young voice asked me. I turned around to see the black kid, standing alone, looking up at the board.

"What do you think it is?" I asked, moving the lone black knight experimentally. I had no idea what I was doing—I couldn't really play—but I wanted to do something.

"Looks like a chess set?" the kid surmised, a slight increase in his tone, implying that he'd phrased his sentence as a question.

I smiled. "Got it in one." I moved a white pawn in response to the black knight's move. "I found it in the wreckage. I've been looking for the pieces on and off." I gestured to the incomplete set. "Obviously I haven't been totally successful."

"Obviously," the kid said in the same joking tone I'd spoken in earlier.

I moved a black pawn, simply because I felt like it. Black couldn't win really. There wasn't any way. After all, White didn't have a king for Black to capture. "Where's your dad?" I asked the kid as I considered White's next move.

"In the woods, looking for Vincent."

"Vincent?"

"My dog."

"Ah." After long deliberation I decided to move the recently opened white bishop.

"What's your name?" the kid asked bluntly. That's what I liked about kids: no pretences.

"Alec," I responded, repositioning the knight. "You?"

"Walt. Michael's my dad," the kid told me, looking intently at the board.

"Nice to meet you, Walt," I told him. I moved the white bishop until he collided with the dark pawn with a slight klink. First blood to light. "So do you play?"

"A little," Walt told me, "but mostly I've been learning to play backgammon with Mr. Locke."

"Backgammon, huh," I stated, wishing I had the other black knight with which I could entrap the daring white bishop. "Never played it. Is Locke that old bald guy who sits out in the rain?" I gestured at my face. "Scar over one eye?"

Walt nodded, his little head bobbing. "Yep, that's him." He looked closely at me. "Maybe we could play some time? I could teach you the rules."

"I'd like that," I told Walt honestly. I'd love to match wits with someone. Learning backgammon would also be a great way to kill time.

That's when our wounded friend started groaning, really loudly. It was more of a scream. Not a healthy one either. The strangled gasping sounding like a dying man forcing air out of his lungs, which is what it was.

I clenched my teeth and tried to ignore it, but I couldn't. I moved another piece, trying to focus on my game. Walt had disappeared already. Charlie sat on some wreckage with the man I assumed was Mr. Locke. He looked like he was attempting to ignore the screaming. It wasn't working.

I shut my eyes and ground my teeth. It didn't matter. Finally I just stood up and strolled away from my chess set. In hindsight leaving it unattended may not have been wise but I wanted to get away from the noise. The sun was starting to set again—day three, I mentally calculated—and the poor man hadn't died yet.

I was desperate for company, hoping to get away from the noise of the dying man. I found Claire sitting on her chair near the surf, writing in her journal.

She didn't smile when I approached. "Can't take it?" I asked her softly.

She shook her head. "I can't. The poor man, he's dying slowly. It's a horrible way to go out. That could have been any of us. It could have been me, it could have been you." She really seemed upset by this. I didn't want to think about how right she was with her line of thinking, so I just nodded.

"You know, under different circumstances I might enjoy this," I told Claire, without looking at her.

"Oh?" she asked me, scribbling another note in her journal.

"A tropical island, a brilliant sunset, pleasant company." Claire snorted a bit but didn't speak. "People pay a lot for this up in the Great White North. Could have done without the crash landing though," I said with a weak smile.

Claire returned the smile in kind. "It is a wonderful sunset," she stated, looking up from her journal. The two of us just gazed into the brilliant ball of orange as it sank lower and lower.

I had a bit of water and some of the chicken from the plane. That's when I noticed just how low our supplies of food were getting. If we weren't rescued soon . . .

It was real dark now, the campfires burning brightly. Our dying man was still groaning. I decided that maybe I should stroll past the tent and pay my respects.

Jack and Hurley were standing outside of the tent talking. I decided to join them.  
"How is he?" I asked Jack as I arrived.

"Dying," Jack replied grimly, "just like he was a few hours ago.

"Hey Jack," Hurley asked, "where's the fugitive?"

Right away I knew my friend was talking about Kate.

Jack did too, nodding at the tent. "She's in there."

Hurley's eyes grew, much like my own.

_Alone, with the marshal, that guy who'd taken her hostage, and the gun. How do I know he's a marshal?_

It all fell into place. The photo, the gun, the man's suit. I knew Kate was a con, but now I knew he had been her jailer. Somehow I doubted she'd be to kind to him.

"You let her in there alone?" Hurley asked, breathlessly.

'What's she gonna do? She's a hundred and twenty pounds soaking wet . . ."  
"Yeah, but she has that gun!" Hurley blurted out.

"What?" Jack asked in shock.

"Hurley told me she's carrying it!" I told Jack hurriedly.

"She's packing, Man! I saw it in her . . . in her . . ." Jack was already gone, sprinting towards the tent. I took off after him, leaving Hurley muttering alone.

Jack pulled to a stop so quickly I almost ran into him. My furious back peddling went unnoticed by him. I caught a glance of Kate leaving the tent from over his shoulder. She hadn't done anything. I smiled slightly.

_All that panic for nothing._

"Kate!" Jack called, she turned to face us. I still couldn't believe she hadn't shot him.

That's when the gunshot rang out, echoing across the beach, far louder than it should have been. My heart stopped cold and my smile vanished. Kate gave us a sad look and walked away. Jack stood there as I did, a blank look on his face.

That's when the Southern man exited the tent, his face set, a Nine-Millimeter pistol clenched in his hand.

"You son of a . . .!" I roared at him, dashing forward.

Jack grabbed onto my arm. "Not now, Alec!" He looked at the man. "What did you do?"

"It's bloody obvious what he did!" I cried in anger. "That Yankee over there plugged the marshal!"

"String-bean is dead on the money," the man stated firmly. "I did what you couldn't, Doc."

Jack let go of my arm and strode towards the Yankee, his stance and pace telegraphing his anger.

"I know you couldn't understand it, being a doctor and all, but he wanted it! He even asked me!" The man shouted those words at Jack as the two stood, nose-to-nose, gazing angrily at each other.

Jack strode towards the tent, but the Yankee still called after him, "I don't like it anymore than you do. But it was something that had to be done."

That's when we all heard the gurgling coughing from the tent. The blond American's face turned to an expression of horror and Jack lost his composer.

"Ah, no way," Hurley stated loudly from where he stood. As soon as I realized that the marshal was still alive, I bent over, welcoming my chicken dinner back into the world.

Jack ignored my being messily sick, and I could hear him even over the sounds of my vomiting.

"Guys?" Hurley said as Jack and the other guy dashed for the tent.

I couldn't quite make out what Jack and the other guy said but my vomit had turned to dry heaves at this point.

Hurley seemed traumatized. "Is he still breathing?" he asked to no one.

"You perforated his lung." I could hear Jack's even and angry tone quite clearly. "It'll take hours for him to bleed out."

I could barely make out the southern man's faint, almost meek reply. "I only have one bullet."

"Get out," Jack stated. The man didn't leave. "Get _out_!" Jack roared. The tent flap opened and the man quick walked out.

Hurley joined me in puking up his guts. I caught a glimpse of the Yank trying to light a cigarette, eyes moistening. It wouldn't light. He swore and hurled it away, sending the little item into the night.

The gurgling of the marshal was worse than the groaning but it didn't last long. A mere minute pasted. We stopped vomiting. Jack exited the tent, a grim look on his face. He strode right past the southern man and right past us. From his haunted look and stance I could tell the marshal was dead.

I managed to hobble back to the tarp. Claire, Charlie and a few others were already there, asleep. I collapsed into the tarp, in my usual position. Exhausted and drained by my experience, I fell asleep almost instantly.


	7. Chapter 7 Burial

**Chapter 7**

"**Burial"**

The next morning I woke up early, much earlier than I normally did. It was maybe, I don't know, seven? The rising sun had shaken the cobwebs from my brain and forced my eyes open at a time I would rather have slept through. Most people had, like me, risen early to greet our fourth day on the island.

_Day Four. Why haven't we been rescued yet? Oh, right, we're thousands of miles off course._

I tried not to think about the marshal and instead focus on breakfast. To my complete lack of surprise, it wasn't any better than the last one. Our food supply was starting to run low, dangerously so. No one had expected to be on the island this long and despite all our rationing attempts it was going too fast.

People were up and about, doing nothing of particular importance. Claire sat in the surf, eyes closed dreamily. Charlie sat on some wreckage, scribbling more on his canvas wrapped knuckles. Hurley had on a pair of large headphones, connected to a Discman, as he went about his task of pairing shoes found in the crash. I saw Michael return Walt's dog. The kid had a huge smile on his face as he hugged his dad gleefully. I smiled at that. Nice to see something happy for a change.

It was a surreal scene, one far too quickly shattered by Jack's approach. He looked haggard and worn; a thick layer of stubble on his face, bags under his eyes. His formerly crisp shirt was rumpled and the sleeves were rolled up. He looked like a man who'd gone hard all night without sleep.

_He probably hasn't slept in a day or more._

"Hey, Alec, busy?" Jack asked, sounding exhausted but trying to hide it.

I looked over at the beach, to my untouched, unfinished chess set and then back to Jack. "No. Not really," I answered him honestly.

"Good, come with me," Jack said, waving a hand. I stood and followed him. The journey was quick and silent, taking us all the way back to the medical tent. We entered without speaking.

The marshal was laying on a tarp in the centre of the tent, eyes closed, a strangely peaceful look on his face. Someone had taken the time to clean his body, probably Jack.

"We going to bury him?" I asked, expecting the obvious answer.

Jack knelt down next to the Marshal's silent body. "Yep," he answered without ceremony. Jack tugged on the edges of the tarp, covering the marshal with it. Some quick handy-work with a piece of yellow twine and Jack had created a navy man's coffin. I supposed it was the best we could do and far better than I expected. I guess Jack wanted to make up for not being able to save him.

"Take his legs," Jack ordered, grabbing onto the corpse's shoulders.

I took the legs without complaint, lifting the marshal.

_He's lighter than I thought he'd be. Probably lost a lot of weight over his last three days._

"You got a spot in mind?" I asked Jack as we carried the body out of the tent.

"Yes," Jack grunted. "Hopefully we won't have to revisit it."

It was only a short walk, no more than two minutes. Jack led me to a nice secluded spot. The area was a small clearing behind the crash sight, surrounded by large palm trees. Light rays of sun blanketed the small patch in warmth. It was calm and tranquil, shaded by the trees. It seemed like a perfect place to lay a tormented man to rest, a spot of peace in an otherwise bleak world.

We set the marshal down gently. "Do we have any shovels?" I inquired. "I don't think we'll get far with our hands."

Jack tossed something at me that fell into my palm with a soft thump. I looked down at it, a long piece of wood with a small piece of jagged metal tied to the end. Jack had one of his own, already in the process of scooping the first clump of the soft jungle dirt. With a sigh I bent over and did the same. The makeshift tool dug hungrily and with ease, making the shoveling easier than I thought it would be.

"I know it's not the best," Jack grunted between scoops, "but there weren't any shovels on the plane."

"Who made these?" I asked, adding another clump of dirt to the pile.

"Hurley," Jack replied without flair. "He seems to be good at coming up with things."

The answer satisfied my curiosity and for a while the only sound was the scraping of metal on dirt. I began to sweat through my T-shirt. Becoming uncomfortably aware of how particularly foul I smelled, I took a quick whiff of myself to confirm it. I stank.

_I need to find a change of clothes. Or at least clean these._

We went on in silence, a hole starting to take form, when I popped the question that had been on my mind the last three days. "Why us?" Jack looked at me blankly, "Why did we survive?" I stopped digging, jabbing my shovel into the ground and leaning on it for support. "There were over two hundred people on that plane Jack, two hundred!" I added a furious waving hand gesture to emphasize my point. "About forty of us walked away! Why? Why me and not Ted?"

Jack was silent for a moment, looking intently at the dirt. "Luck," he said mirthlessly. "Or lack thereof."

"It can't just be that!" I replied, returning to the digging. "Do you think it was . . ." I paused searching for a word. "Fate?"

"I don't believe in fate," Jack replied without hesitation, still not looking up from his work.

"Why not?" I asked him cautiously, taking another jab at the dirt.

"Because I don't like the idea of not being in control of my life." His reply was sharp. "Think about that, Alec. No matter what you do, no matter how hard you struggle, your life is predetermined by some outside force. Doesn't seem right to me."  
There was a brittle silence that descended over the pair of us as we worked. Soon we were standing in a hole up to my waist, long enough to slide the marshal's remains into. Both our shovels were deposited to the side, the shafts sticking up in the air.

Ceremoniously, we picked up the marshal's tarp coffin and lowered it into the hole we'd dug in the ground. We stood in silence for a moment, looking at the dirty blue tarp that contained the man's body.

"Do you want to say something?" I asked Jack.

"No," Jack said shaking his head, "funerals aren't really my thing."

That left me. I hated to do it but I really felt that something should be said, "Um, hey, God." I said, tilting my head towards the sky. "None of us on this plane, except maybe Kate, knew this guy. No one is here to mourn him but us. Well, he's dead and buried now, a soldier eternally off duty. I just hope he makes it to your kingdom. Um, amen." I added rather hastily. I think it may have been the worst send off ever in history but I guess it was better than nothing.

Jack didn't say anything; he just looked at the grave in silence, eyes grim. We stood in quiet reverence for a while, just looking at the tarp that contained the marshal. After a passage of time Jack took his makeshift shovel and began the process of recovering the body. I joined in and soon we had the man completely covered.

Jack placed a crudely made cross, made from sticks and twine, at the head of the grave, marking it as a soldier's resting place.

He turned and walked back towards the camp we'd established around the remains of the fuselage, leaving me standing alone.

I sent a last nod towards the fallen soldier and headed back towards camp myself. It was important to put the dead to rest, but the living were more important.

I stank, badly. I'm not known for my ability to pick up scents. Quite the opposite, really. Yet I could smell myself. It wasn't a pleasant scent. But there were no showers, not even a change of clothes. I had no real way of freshening up.

Then I looked over at the ocean, and I got an idea. Turns out it was easier to find a secluded spot on the beach than I thought. A quick glance to the left and the right proved that no one was about. I stripped quickly, depositing my clothes in the surf near the shore, far enough that they'd be cleaned by the ocean water but too close to be dragged out to sea.

Throwing my hands over my head, I dived into the blue vastness. The salty ocean water was bitter on my lips and tongue but felt marvelous on the rest of my body. My eyes stinging from the salt, I rose to the surface of the water. Splashing about absently, I was careful to stay close to the shore. The ocean was wide and merciless: it'd be far too easy to get sucked out by a current and die a waterlogged death. After surviving the plane crash I had no intention of drowning.

I continued to muck about in the cool water, feeling the dirt and grim from my body fall away. I'd adjusted to the temperature and it started to feel quite pleasant.

"Hello, how's the water?" A familiar Australian voice asked me from the beach.

"Claire!" A chill settled across my body at the uncomfortable circumstances of our meeting. Quickly I righted my body, crunching up a bit. "Um . . . great! What are you doing here?"

"Well I can still walk," she said with a little snort and an eye roll. "I take a walk on the beach every morning. Keeps me limber." I could swear she got a glance at my pants and unmentionables washing in the surf. "You much of a swimmer?"

"Well you see . . ." I began, stammering over my words, feeling very flustered, "I don't smell good . . . so I . . . uh . . . decided to wash up." I was treading water now, not daring to get any closer to the beach but at the same time starting to tire.

"Make sense. We're all starting to smell a little rank. Well, I know I am. Care for some company? I can sort of wade about."

"NO!" I blurted out instantly. "Well, yes," I corrected after she recoiled from the ferocity of my reply, "It's just that I'm sort of . . . unclad at the moment. It would hardly do for you to . . . get flashes."

Claire's eyes took an understanding tone as she finally got my meaning. "Oh. I see," she told me at length. "Would you like me to turn my back for a moment?"

I nodded vigorously. Claire gave me a strange, almost flirtatious smile and turned her back to me. As soon as I could no longer see her eyes, I dashed forward, grabbing my boxers and jeans from the surf. I replaced them in record time, slipping my shirt over my head as I informed her that she could look again.

Claire's eyes were twinkling in amusement at my predicament, "Perhaps you'd rather take a walk."

I nodded in agreement. "A walk sounds pleasant." Claire turned and began the awkward marching cadence of a woman eight months pregnant. With the stride afforded me by my six-foot plus frame, I kept pace with her easily. She seemed almost tiny next to me, and somewhat fragile. Yet she radiated a strength and confidence that I found inspiring. Weird I know, but her ability to carry on when others would have folded, to have faith that all would be well, was extraordinary and I wanted to be more like her.

"Lovely place," I said looking out into the jungle, "If you forget about that monster that knocks over trees and eats people."

"Yes, there is that," Claire responded as we continued our pleasant stroll through the sand, "Though we haven't seen much of him lately."

We hadn't heard from it since the first night. I had no idea why, but I was glad for it. The longer that thing stayed away the better.

"With him out of the way the only thing likely to kill us is boredom," I told her lightly.

_Well there's starvation too, but hey, it can't be that bad wasting away to nothing._

"I'm sure we'll find something else deadly before too long," Claire said with a funny kind of cheerful pessimism. "Then you'll be missing the boredom."

It was a valid point, and I nodded my consent. " I just wish I could find all of the chess pieces."

Claire nodded sympathetically. "Well, I'm not a fan of the game, but it is a pity. You did manage to acquire most of them. Maybe you could make the others?"

It wasn't a bad idea, "Carving them might work," I mused, "too bad I'd be more likely to slice my finger open with the knife than craft a king out of the wood."

"Well who knows? Maybe with the constant practice you'll get better," Claire said playfully.

"Great! Except there aren't any knives. This is an airplane, remember? You can't even bring nail clippers!" I stole a glance at my rapidly expanding nails. "I could use a pair of those right now."

"We could use almost everything right now," Claire pointed out, with a small smile.  
"Except tarps," I corrected her. "We have more tarps than we could ever use! I swear one of the passengers on this flight must have been a traveling tarp salesman!"

Claire burst into another fit of giggling that ended in the surprised gasp. Apparently her little tyke was kicking again. "He thinks you're hilarious," Claire told me, looking down at her belly with a happy smile on her face, holding it in both hands. "He's just rolling with amusement in there."

The rest of our walk was filled with pointless small talk and taking in views of the island. It seemed far less intimidating during the day. We made it back to the camp in time for a lunch, during which we went our separate ways.

Claire went off towards her chair by the surf, writing away in her journal. I went back to the makeshift medical tent. It seemed abandoned and empty, now that our marshal had expired. I wanted to find the crossword book and try to complete more entries on the first page. Hurley and I had still not completed the puzzle, even with the two of us working on it.

Inside the tent I was surprised to see Hurley sitting in one of the three plane chairs, the book already in his hands, his pencil working away.

"Hey, Dude," he said without looking up. "Here for another crack at this puzzle?"

I nodded. "Yeah. That is, if you're done with it." I took a seat on the plane chair next to Hurley.

"Dude, knock yourself out," Hurley told me, handing me the book of crosswords. I took it, glancing over the first page as I did so. There were about one hundred words in the first puzzle. We'd filled about 30 of them. Most of the other entries had clearly been written in and erased, multiple times.

"Hey, Hurley? Who was America's sixth president?" I asked from behind the book.

"Dude, if I knew I would have filled it out," Hurley answered, clearly irritated.

"Point taken." I cast another glance over the well used page. I wrote down "numbers" in slot 4 followed by "Australia" in 8. Then I drew a mental blank.

"Hurley? What's—"  
"Dude!" Hurley yelled back at me.

"Sorry," I replied. I had to admit, this crossword was really starting to bug me. I wrote "republican guard" in 15 but then erased it. 16 was "conman" and 23 "Korea". 42 was glaring at me, sitting defiantly blank. Two words. The hint was "a profession" with the letters S, I, U, and G in it. It was, excluding the space, 13 letters long.

"So where were you this morning?" Hurley asked, sounding less irritated now. It was an infuriating puzzle.

"First I helped Jack bury the Marshal, which took up a good portion of the morning, then I spent the rest of it walking with Claire."

"Claire, huh," Hurley mused to himself.

"Yeah, what about it?" I snapped at him, sounding very defensive.

"Nothing dude," Hurley replied, oblivious to my defensive answer, "It's just that you spend a lot of time with her. And you're always smiling when she's around."

"I just enjoy her company," I explained, not believing myself as I said it. "It's nothing romantic or anything."

"Whatever, man," Hurley replied, not sounding like he bought it. "Hey, 38 down is 'polar bear'!" he exclaimed, jabbing a finger at it.

I looked at it, mentally tossed it around and deduced that my friend was indeed correct. After writing it down the letter P was added to 42 and the answer became obvious.

" 'Spinal surgeon'!" I cried out with joy. "That's the answer to 42!" I scribbled the letters down and sure enough they fit.

"Great, Dude," Hurley muttered, sounding less than enthusiastic. "So now we have about forty out of a hundred. At this rate it'll take us to the end of the week to do this one page."

"Look on the bright side," I told him, writing down "heroin" and then erasing it, " we have five years worth of puzzles! At least we'll have something to do until we're rescued."

"If we don't go crazy and kill ourselves trying to solve these stupid things," Hurley grumbled morbidly in reply.

* * *

**Please Respond to the Poll on my Page if you like this story! I have to ideas for season 1 to end and I can't choose between them! So I'm letting the people choose! Thanks for your time!**


	8. Chapter 8 Boars and Backgammon

**Chapter 8**

"**Boars and Backgammon"**

Despite Hurley's pessimism we managed to spend another thirty odd minutes chipping away at the crossword. Then, by mutual agreement, we put the book back in the plane seat and left it before we tore it up in blind fury.

Hurley went off alone somewhere. I couldn't see Charlie or Claire, so I went to my chess set. Surprisingly, all of the pieces were still there. I was mildly surprised that our redneck friend hadn't swiped them, not that I knew what he'd do with them, but I'd imagine that he'd just take them to tick me off.

I moved the black queen, taking a white knight. The game wasn't much fun without someone to play it with, or all the pieces, so my eyes went wandering over to the other survivors on the beach. I saw that old bald guy sitting on the beach with his back to me, legs folded. He had something in his lap and he was moving his hands idly.

I told my curiosity that I wasn't going to find out what that thing was. I wasn't going to give in. I could live without knowing.

That lasted five seconds. I began a casual stroll over in his direction. "What's that?" I asked him, trying to sound nonchalant about it.

"A backgammon set," the bald man replied without looking at me, "The oldest game in human history."  
"Oh, they found sets in ancient Mesopotamia, right?" I asked the old guy.

He didn't look at me but I could tell from his tone that he was smiling. "That's right. How do you know that?"

"I majored in history. It's kind of a passion of mine," I glanced around at the island. "Of course, now I wish I'd majored in wilderness survival."

The bald man laughed. "You never know how helpful a bit of knowledge could be." He turned to face me, holding the board in his hands, the little black and white checkers inviting me for a game. "Want to try your hand?"

"Sure. But I've never played the game. Chess is more my thing," I told him taking a seat across from him on the other side of the board.

"So it's your set on the suitcase?" the man asked me, looking like he already knew the answer. I nodded, prompting him to add, "You're missing some pieces for your set."  
"I've looked like crazy, but I bet that I'll never find them. Either they're lost in the jungle or fell into the ocean. If I could carve I'd make the replacements, but, you know, can't do that."

The man nodded sympathetically. "Now in backgammon there are two sides, much like every other game," he explained, changing the subject totally. To illustrate his instructions he held up two pieces from the game. "Like chess, there is a white side and a black side, and also like chess, both vie for control of the board." He placed the pieces back on the board and set it back to its default position. "The objective of the game is to get all of your pieces to the other side of the board. You do that by rolling a pair of dice," The bald man held up a pair of dice, bouncing them idly in his hands. "Players roll for supremacy. In case of a tie we re-roll. After the chain is established, lay alternates between players . . ." The man went off for several minutes, explaining the rules of the game. They were quite complex and I struggled to wrap my head around them.

"Forgive me Mr. . . . ?" I trailed off, waving my hand idly, hoping to catch his name.

"Locke," the man told me with a friendly smile, offering his hand in friendship. "What's your name?"  
"Alec," I replied shaking his hand.

"You have a great name," the old man replied. "Name for Alexander the Great, born leader and conquer. Are you a leader, Alec?"  
"No," I replied quietly. " I want to be, but I'm not very well respected by my peers. Not that I have many that associate with me. I'm kind of a loner." I don't know why I was spilling all of this to a complete stranger but something about him made me think I could trust him and he sympathized with me.

"I know what it's like to be a loner," Locke told me, smiling sadly. "I think you'll find fine company on this island. We all have stories, like you. With your personality and skill set, I believe you'll be invaluable."

"My skill set? What are you talking about? I'm useless!"

"No you're not." Locke replied firmly. "No one is useless, you just haven't found a way to use your skills yet. But you will."  
I wasn't enjoying this conversation at all. My skin was crawling. I didn't like to talk about my flaws and skills so I changed the subject., "Tell me, Mr. Locke. Why'd you waste your time teaching me to play backgammon?"

Locke smiled again. "Because I need someone to play with. Would you care for a game now?"

"Why not?" I replied, taking up the dice and rolling. Locke's face took on a serious look, like a man concentrating on winning. Locke played for keeps. He trumped me in the roll and immediately went on the attack.

Four and a half minutes later it was over. Locke had thrashed me completely.

"Pity, it looked like you could have done well for a moment there," he said sympathetically, gesturing at the board.

"Bah! Let's go again! I can feel it!" I shouted at Locke, very vexed at being beaten so easily. Locke smiled again. The next game ended just like the first. I didn't do any better on the third game. By the fifth game I managed to last six minutes against Locke before my firm defeat.

We continued to play until the sun went down. I never beat Locke. Heck, I never even got close.

After Locke's final piece slid into place, he closed the board. "That's all for today. The sun's going down. Playing in the dark will only further strain that eye." He gestured at my eye, the one missing the contact. I was impressed by his skill, most people would have noticed the bashed, horrific looking nose wound to a small squint.

I conceded him the point. "Well, I guess you won the day."

Locke laughed. It was a strangely soft sound for a man that looked so tough. "I guess I did. Take care Alec, remember, you're destined for great things."

With that cryptic line and an equally cryptic look, Locke disappeared into the night.

_Me? Destined for greatness? Whatever . . ._

My curiosity led me to wonder what Charlie and Sayid were doing at the moment, so I headed off in the direction of their campfire.

I couldn't see Sayid, but Charlie was sitting on a pipe from the plane, writing on his knuckles with a felt marker. At least, I thought it was his knuckles, as I got closer I could see he was instead writing on white masking tape he'd taped to the aforementioned part of his hand.

"Hey, Charlie, how's life?" I asked, sitting on the pipe next to him.

"Life?" He looked at me, his sarcastic tone obvious. "Life's terrific right now."

I laughed a bit. "At least I don't have deadlines to meet. College sucks." In a weird sort of way that was true. I was rather pleased not to be doing physics. Of course, I would rather have not been trapped on an island with a monster, a redneck and a convict, but hey. Look for the silver lining. "What're you doing, anyway?"

Charlie put down his marker. "If it's not entirely obvious, I'm writing on my knuckles. Four letter words exactly. It's a quirky hobby I picked up during long tours with the band. Some of the drives would kill me, so to keep from going insane I started doing this. Take a shot yourself."

I took up the masking tape and quickly covered my knuckles with it. After a moment of thinking I took the marker and wrote "Pace" on the masking tape in the neatest strokes I could manage.

After showing the word to Charlie he responded with a smirk, "I'm flattered."

"Well, I am sitting on the same pipe as the great Charlie Pace! Bassist for the legendary rock band Drive Shaft!" I shut up as soon as it came out of my mouth, the last thing I wanted to sound like was some idiot fanboy.

Charlie laughed a bit. "Well most people would kill themselves to be friends with Charlie Pace! But I assume they'd rather be back in civilization."

"Do you mind if I ask you some questions?" I asked nervously. "I've always wanted to know a few things about you."

"Fire away," Charlie replied casually, scribbling away.

"Have you ever heard of Nightwish?" I was hoping that he had. The concept of my two favorite bands meeting would have blown my mind.

"Heard of them?" Charlie replied indignantly. "I met Marco Hitala during our second tour of Finland. Fellow bassist and all that. Nice guy."

"On tour, what's the best thing you've ever eaten?" It was kind of a dumb question but I was curious about his dietary habits. Besides that, I was hungry. Maybe talking about food would make me less hungry.

"Best thing ever?" Charlie leaned back and closed his eyes. "Well, one time, in Sweden, we had this Beef Wellington—"  
He was interrupted from his remembrance by the loud barking of the dog. As much as I was happy for Walt that'd he'd gotten his dog back I really wish he'd shut up.

"Bloody mutt," Charlie grumbled as the kid tried to silence the dog.

"I'm curious how the dog survived. Shouldn't he have been crushed in the plane crash? He'd be in the luggage compartment."

"Some people, or animals, have all the luck," Charlie responded. "I wished he had gotten crushed though," he grumbled under his breath.

A crashing noise erupted from the remains of the fuselage, as if something were thrashing around in there. Charlie dropped his marker and gazed at the plane's remains with horror.

I stood bolt upright, the back of my neck prickling with a strange sensation of fear. I knew in my mind that no one was breathing in there. I turned back to see my fellow survivors gathering in a clump looking at the fuselage like it was.

"Somebody's in there," Claire said shakily from behind me. Instinctively I looked back to make sure she was okay. She was.

"Everyone in there is dead," Sayid told her, not sounding too confident in his answer.

Jack drew the logical conclusion. "Sawyer." It took me a minute to figure out who Sawyer was. Until my Yankee nemesis spoke up.

"Right behind you, Jack-hole," he grumbled at the doc.

_How'd Jack find out his name? _

"If Sawyer's over there," I asked pointing shakily at him. "Who's in there?" My other finger was wobbling as it marked the fuselage remains.

"Well, String-Bean, why don't we find out?" Sawyer answered sarcastically, pulling a huge hand-held industrial flashlight from behind him.

Jack pulled a pair of small flashlights from his breast pocket, tossing one to me. Apparently he wanted me to tag along. Truth be told, I was terrified of going anywhere near that thing, but the last thing I wanted to look like in front of everyone—especially Claire—was a coward, so I swallowed and turned on the tiny flashlight.

The shattered opening to the plane bore an ominous resemblance to a hungry mouth in the dark. The tiny beam of light did little to remove the crushing blackness. Jack added his beam to my own and we began to scan the fuselage.

Kate and Charlie moved in behind us, trying to get a glimpse of whatever was making the noises.

_There's no such thing as monsters. There's no such thing as monsters._

"Well, we tried, nothing in there," I whispered at Jack, trying to convince him to turn back. But then my beam of light fell onto something that was moving, something large and hairy.

Jack began to gently play his own beam at the thing, as we tried to make it out.

"I'm going to shed some light on this thing," Sawyer stated confidently aiming his large light, pistol like, at the mass.

"Sawyer don't—" I hissed at him, a bit too slow. Sawyer flicked it on and an intense beam of light punched through the darkness.

The beast inside growled and turned towards the light. I saw red eyes, glaring hatefully out of the dark.

"Run!" Jack shouted at everyone. I dropped my flashlight and raced away from the fuselage, my fear providing plenty of energy. Everyone began screaming and running away. Jack passed me in our dash away from the remains as something came thundering out of the wreckage, snorting furiously. Then something else followed it sounding just as mad.

I saw Sayid helping Claire away, Boone raising cover for his sister, Sawyer standing protectively in front of Kate.

I heard a thud behind me followed by a grunt, despite my fear I turned to see that Charlie had tripped and was laying in the sand, scrambling. Jack saw it too, and together we headed back to help him. I grabbed his side, pulling him up. Then something large and angry barred between us, throwing Charlie onto his back and flipping me over. My side burned as something sharp slashed it. Judging by Charlie's grunt of pain he'd not escaped unscathed either.

The angry creatures thundered off into the jungle, leaving everyone standing around in shock. The Korean woman began a string of rapid fire Korean. Charlie summarized her perfectly when he asked, "What were those bloody things?"

"Boar." The answer was firm and crisp and totally confident. The voice belonged to Mr. Locke.

I groaned, my side aching. Tentatively, I lowered a hand down to feel my side. Sure enough it was warm hand sticky, my hand returning to my face covered in blood. My blood. I almost fainted.

"Hey, are you alright?" Charlie asked, kneeling next to me.

"Frigging thing cut me!" I groaned at him.

"Somebody grab him, get him over to the tent!" Jack ordered. I was too light headed or woozy to tell who it was, but strong hands lifted me up, carrying me over. Hurley maybe? Boone? Sayid? I couldn't tell. I tried to protest, to tell them I didn't need to be carried like a dying man, but I couldn't form the words. I was dizzy, my vision fading in and out as I struggled to maintain my consciousness.

_I shouldn't be acting like this._

I hadn't lost that much blood and yet I was on the verge of fainting. Probably caused by my low blood pressure. Ever since I was a kid I've had it. If stand up too quickly after sitting an extended period of time, I almost pass out. The loss of blood brought on by the boar's tusk must have caused it.

"Put him over there," Jack's voice reached my ears as the hands lowered me into one of the plane's chairs. Someone removed my shirt, causing me to hiss in pain as the fabric rubbed against the gash on my side. "Someone get me the peroxide!" Jack ordered to someone I could see.

Just the act of sitting down was starting to restore me, my vision had returned to normal. The fog in my brain began to shift and my line of reasoning returned to me. When Jack shoved the cloth soaked in peroxide against my wound I hissed in pain. It really cleared my mind.

"How bad is it?" I asked Jack, hoping it wasn't too serious.

"Not bad," he replied in his calm monotone. "The wound is deep enough to draw blood but too shallow to damage any of your organs or your ribs. You're very lucky."

"How's Charlie?" I asked, shaking my head to clear the remaining cobwebs out of my mind.

"Charlie's fine, he's just a little bruised." Jack told me reassuringly. He wiped the wound a bit more and then began wrapping it in a cloth bandage.

_This island's going to kill me sooner or later. I've already broken my first bone and been gashed by a boar, what's next?_

What do you think they were looking for?" I asked Jack, not wanting to focus on the fact I was almost killed a second time.

"Food, I figure," Jack answered with a finally pull on the bandage. I winced but said nothing. I looked around the tent to see who was there. Sayid, Kate and Charlie had stayed. "Boars probably aren't the only ones that'll be coming to look for food. We need to get rid of the bodies."

"Bury them," Charlie spoke up gesturing at the fuselage with his marker. "There's a whole bunch in there."

"At least twenty," Sayid estimated, arms folded, leaning against a post in the tent.

"Digging won't be easy with our makeshift shovels," I pointed out.

"We're not going to bury them. We need to burn them," Jack stated calmly and pointedly. Everyone looked at him in shock.

_Burn them? They shouldn't be disposed of like lawn trimmings._

_ "_They're people," Kate said with a voice of sympathy. Ironic, considering she had wanted to put the marshal out of his misery.

"I know they're people, Kate," Jack replied irritatedly, looking up from his work on my wounded side.

"Burning the remains. They deserve better than that," Sayid told Jack venomously.

"Better than what?" Jack asked pointedly. "Getting eaten by wild animals? Because that's what's going to happen. Any bodies we bury aren't going to stay buried for very long. Look," Jack stood and threw away the bloodied rag he'd been using on my wound, "I know this seems harsh, but with that fuselage in the sun . . ." He let that line of thought trail off but everyone knew what he was referring too. The stench of decomposing bodies would draw all the scavengers on the island like a buffet draws overweight men.

"It's not about what they deserve," Jack pointed out, taking a seat by our tiny fire. "They're gone and we're not."

His logic made sense. "As cruel as this seems, Jack's right," I stated, throwing my vote with Jack. "I don't like the idea of burning everyone either, but better they burn with dignity than end up in some animal's belly."

"What you both say may be true," Sayid replied, "but is it up to us to decide how these people are laid to rest? Its not right." He sounded genuinely upset about this. "No regard for their wishes? Their religions?"

"We don't have time to sort out everybody's God," Jack answered, irritated.

"Really?" Charlie asked snidely, looking up from his markers. "Last I heard we were positively made of time." His British accent lent the sarcasm a dry bent. Kate shot him a look that showed her disapproval of the black humor.

"Look I'm not happy about it either," Jack said, his eyes showing the sadness inside of him, "but you all know that we crashed a thousand miles off course. They're looking for us in the wrong place. We've been here four days. No one's come." His logic was infallible. "Tomorrow we need everyone to start gathering up wood, dry brush and turn that fuselage into a furnace. Wait until the sun goes down tomorrow night before we set that fire," he ordered, rising from his seat. With those words he left us.

"If he's so eager to burn the bodies why are we waiting until sundown?" Charlie asked reasonably.

Kate answered for me. "He's hoping someone will see it."

Charlie looked down sadly and put his marker in his pocket. Kate left the tent after Jack, the woman seem fixated with our good doctor.

Sayid stood, looking very solemn and very upset. I knew why too, my world religions class had taught me something.

"Sayid, you're Muslim right?" I asked him gently. "That's why you oppose to the burning of the bodies. Muslims are supposed to be buried."

Sayid nodded sadly, not responding to me. I decide to appeal to his religion.

"Look, Sayid, Allah knows our extenuating circumstances. If any of his children were on that plane I'm sure he'll allow them into Heaven, no matter that method of their arrival." I smiled unreassuringly at him.

Sayid didn't smile; his mood didn't change. He inclined his head to me in a manner belaying gratitude and turned on his heel.

"Well," Charlie said from behind me. "Quite the night, eh?"

"You could say that," I grunted at him, the bandage wrapped around my ribs making breathing slightly difficult. "Getting stabbed by a boar isn't normally my idea of spending an evening. Not that I've tried it until now."

"Look at it this way," Charlie told me, trying to be witty, "At least you'll have a cool scar to show your friends."

"Yeah, because Hurley's going to be so impressed with this scar on my side," I muttered, rolling my eyes.

"Well, you know what they say, ladies love a dangerous man. You can put that scar to good use and get a date," he suggested with a smirk.

"Really? Last time I checked there were hardly any women on this island. There's Kate, but she's fixated with Jack, besides that I don't really trust her. Shannon's rather irritating and the other's married and speaks no English. Miss anyone?" I asked him sarcastically.

"You missed the main one," he said slyly. "Wavy blond hair, cute accent, a baby on the way . . . Besides, you already seem to have picked her out for yourself."

"You think I'm in love with Claire?" I asked Charlie incredulously, trying to deny something I knew was true.

"Alec, everyone who knows you thinks that. Well, except Claire, for some reason. And Walt, but he's a bit young yet. Well, Sawyer probably doesn't know either, but I don't put much faith in his people skills."

"Well . . ." I paused, searching for a brilliant answer. "That's not true! Just because she's sweet and wonderful doesn't mean anything!" I regretted saying those words as soon as they came out of my mouth.

Charlie just smiled. "How about I give you a hand back to the tent. I imagine you're going to want to lay a load off after your experience on the business end of a boar's tusk."

"Really, Charlie, I don't need help walking." I stood defiantly. I lasted about a second until my vision blurred and I swayed while standing, my feet felt like weights, the world was spinning around me. I threw an arm out for balance and Charlie caught it.

"Maybe I'll accept your offer after all," I told him, leaning heavily on the much smaller man.

"It's a guy thing. I know. The whole, 'I don't need help,' attitude. It's foolish of us, really, but our pride can't help it."

I couldn't help but agree as Charlie gave me a hand back to the tent. I really needed the help; I could barely stand. Hopefully I'd recover with some sleep.

Charlie dumped me into my blanket as gently as he could. I grunted my thanks to my friend as he headed off towards his own makeshift sleeping pallet. Almost as soon as my head hit the rolled up shirt that served as my pillow I fell into a deep sleep. It had been a trying day.


	9. Chapter 9 Into the Maw

**Chapter 9**

"**Into the Maw"**

I slept in the next day. No one was cruel enough to wake me up after I'd been slashed last night and I was eternally grateful to them all. The sun was shining brightly as my eyes opened—the trap did little to dull its incredible brightness. The pain in my side had degraded into a dull throbbing as I slept. With an intake of breath I forced myself to stand. It wasn't as painful as I had expected, but it still hurt.

Resting my hand against one of the makeshift tent poles, I tottered out of my shelter. The beach was once again a source of activity. Charlie was armed with his marker, Sayid was poking around at something electronic and Mr. Locke busied himself looking through a brilliant silver case with a smile on his face.

I tottered over to my chessboard, curious to see if any of the pieces had gone missing during the night. I was in for a surprise. Not only were the pieces all there, but the missing ones had been added out of carved wood. The detail on the pieces was marvelous, the wooden figures standing proudly next to their plastic counterparts. The black pieces were made from a darker brown than the white pieces, causing no confusion. I was in awe. I knew that someone deserved thanks for completing this wonderful gift but had no clue who had done it. I was determined to do two things: find someone to play against and find the person who'd completed my set so I could let them know my heartfelt gratitude.

My stomach grumbled from hunger, protesting the lack of nourishment it had had after coping with my wound.

_After I get something to eat._

I began a hobble towards the stash of food that we kept for meals. Last time I checked there was still some of the cold lasagna. Well, this time not only was there no lasagna, there was no anything. Our stash was empty. Not even crumbs.

Hurley probably knew about the food situation—he had to, that was what he did. Problem was, I couldn't find Hurley anywhere. That was until I heard shouting and the sounds of a scuffle. There were two voices: Hurley's and (of course) Sawyer's.

I hobbled-slash-dashed over in the general direction of the situation as fast as my bruised side would allow.

"Hand 'em over!" Hurley roared, making a clumsy swipe at a backpack in Sawyer's hands. Sawyer easily dodged Hurley's attempt. "There are other people here, so don't you give a crap?" Hurley wrapped his arms around Sawyer, pinning him in a bear hug.

"Well, if one of us wasn't eating more than his fair share . . ." Sawyer retorted, wiggling free from Hurley's grip.

"Oh, that's bull, and you know it!" Hurley yelled, making another futile swipe at Sawyer.

I hobbled forward, determined to help my friend avoid getting pounded by Sawyer. Jack was headed over as well. "Break it up!" Jack called, but the two ignored him.

"You're not happy unless you're screwing someone over!" Hurley yelled agitatedly.

"Take it easy, Pork Pie!" Sawyer countered, shoving Hurley away.

"Break it up!" Jack called again, this time with more force.

"Stay out of this, Metro!" Sawyer snapped back over his shoulder.

Jack waved at me and I caught it. I dashed in with him, shoving Hurley off to one side while Jack pushed Sawyer away.

"Come on, guys," I began, "we don't want to see Sawyer beat up again." The American flashed me a very rude gesture, one I purposely ignored.

"What's going on?" Jack asked, cutting to the core of the matter.

"Buddy here's hoarding the last of the peanuts!" Hurley complained, jabbing a meaty hand at Sawyer.

"My personal stash! I found it in there!" Sawyer countered himself, making an angry gesture at the fuselage.

"What about the rest of the food?" Jack asked pointedly.

I reluctantly admitted what I knew. "Jack, I was just at the food stash. It's empty. Unless we have another—"

"We don't. Those peanuts are the last of the food. We kind of . . ." he paused and continued rather sheepishly, "ate the rest."

"What?" Shannon snapped indignantly. Murmuring whispers spread through the crowd like wildfire. It looked like we'd have yet another full-blown crisis on our hands.

"Okay, everybody just calm down," Jack said calmly, trying to keep a lid on the rising levels of panic.

I didn't know what to say. I was panicking a bit myself, so I was more than relieved when Sayid took charge of the situation. "We can find food!" he encouraged, striding up the beach. "There are plenty of things on this island we can use for sustenance!"

"And how, exactly, are we going to find this 'sustenance'?" Sawyer grumbled sarcastically, sitting down on a plane chair.

Any further comments he may have had died suddenly as a large knife came flying through the air and buried itself in the chair beside him. Sawyer looked at it in shock. Everyone did, turning as one to see who'd made the throw.

I was just as shocked as everyone to see Mr. Locke standing there. "We hunt," he proclaimed confidently.

Jack strode forward to retrieve Locke's blade as Kate asked the question everyone was thinking. "How'd you get that knife on the plane?"

"Checked it," Locke replied with a small smile on his face.

Jack handed Locke back his knife, "You either have very good aim, or very bad aim, Mr. . . ."

"Locke," Michael, the black man, cut in, not sounding too happy about it. "His name's Locke."

"Okay, Mr. Locke," Jack asked with less than confidence in his voice, "what is it that we're hunting?"

Locke looked out at the ocean absently, nodding his head as if thinking to himself. "We know there are wild boar on the island, razorbacks by the look of them," he mused, "The ones that came into the camp last night were piglets—hundred, hundred-fifty pounds each. Which means that there's a mother nearby. A two-hundred-fifty pound rat, with scimitar-like tusks and a surly disposition that would love nothing more than to eviscerate anything that comes near. Boars' usual mode of attack is to circle round, come from behind, so I figure it'll take at least three of us to distract her long enough for me to flank one of the piglets, pin it, and slit its throat."

I looked at this man in awe. Everyone was silent. Except Sawyer. "And you gave him his knife back?" he asked sarcastically.

"Well, if you've got a better idea . . ." Jack challenged.

"Better than three of you wandering into the magic forest to bag a hunk of ham with nothing more than a little-bitty hunting knife?" Sawyer grumbled. "Nope. It's the best idea I've ever heard."

The silence was brittle. With a confident smile, Locke walked over to his silver suitcase. With one foot he lifted the case open. Inside of it were knives—about a dozen—of various lengths and shapes, sitting comfortably inside. All gleamed in the light, clearly razor sharp.

Everyone stared at Locke with an odd mixture of fear and respect. Even Sawyer was silent, gazing at all the blades inside of the suitcase.

"Who is this guy?" Hurley asked, looking at Locke.

"I have no idea," I answered. It was then I realized I had made a judgment call. This seemingly docile, almost grandfatherly man, was more dangerous than Sawyer, with his physical might, Kate with her criminal record, Michael with his drive. This man was armed to the teeth and from his throw he knew what he was doing. My mind raced as it struggled to recalculate my opinion of this man, the one who'd taught me backgammon. I instantly realized that he'd been the one to craft my missing chess pieces.

_I'll have to thank him for that later._

"So," Mr. Locke said at last, bridging the silence, "I'll be leaving for the jungle in ten minutes. If you feel you have the skills to come with me, meet me then. I'll provide the knife." He smiled one more time, looking, despite the knives, like a proud grandfather, snapped his suitcase shut and departed.

"I'm not sure whether to hug this guy or pee myself," Hurley stated blankly, eyes unblinking.

"Yeah," I replied, looking after Mr. Locke, "that guy has to be a hit man, or a government agent, or something."

"Why else would he pack that many knives? It's obvious. He was on a mission or hit. Coming back, he got caught up in the crash. I just hope he doesn't knife us all to cover his tracks," Hurley murmured, standing next to me. No one in the crowd had moved.

"Well," Sawyer said, walking past us, eyes downcast, "Looks like James Bond has arrived."

Locke was sliding a particularly long knife into a sheath on his waist as I approached him. He was wearing a brown explorer-style vest, and a compass hung from its handle. "Hello, Alec, come to join us on the hunt?"  
_What? Me? I wouldn't last ten seconds in that jungle! The only boar I've ever killed was in the World of Warcraft._

I was terrified by the prospect of going out on that hunt. It sounded dangerous, not to mention the jungle scared me. I wasn't a warrior like Mr. Locke.

"No," I stammered, "I actually came to thank you for crafting the men to complete my chess set. I really appreciate it."

Locke looked at me and didn't answer my comment about the chess set, "I understand why you don't want to come on this hunt, Alec. You're scared, you have doubt about your own competence, you don't want to let anyone down." Locke looked into my soul with his deep blue eyes. "I understand fear and doubt, but if you're to achieve the things I know you can, what you were put on this planet to do, then you're going to have to face yourself at some point. I just hope you can put that fear behind you and see just what you're truly made off."

Those cryptic words left me chilled. Locke smiled warmly at me, clapped my shoulder and set off into the jungle accompanied by Michael and Kate. They each had a knife of their own strapped to their waists. Locke had more than enough knives to go around.

The trio headed off into the jungle, looking very confident in their abilities. I really hoped they would be able to do it. We needed the food.

The work seemed to be centered on the fuselage, people bringing piles of brush and wood, setting them around the plane's corpse. Jack was working there along with Charlie and Sayid. Hurley was nowhere to be seen.

I bent down to retrieve a pile of brushwood, carrying it over to the plane. I tossed the pile among the other brush and plane seats without much concern. A second pile followed the first and a third after that. The combination of the heat and the manual labor weighed down on me, and sweat began to drip down my back.

"Backbreaking labor, awfully unpleasant," Charlie grunted, pitching a plane seat at the pile.

"At least we'll finally be rid of this thing," I muttered, jabbing a thumb at the plane wreckage. "It gives me the creeps."

"Just be glad you never had to go in there," Charlie told me, bending to retrieve more brush. "It's probably worse on the inside."

I laughed a bit. "I'd imagine."

"Hey Alec!" a familiar Australian voice called me. "I need your help with something!"

"It seems the fair Lady Claire is in dire need of assistance!" Charlie called dramatically, waving a hand in mock charge. "Rush to her aid! Win the fair maid's favor!"

"Not funny, Charlie," I griped, stomping away from him.

Claire was standing in front of an opening in the fuselage, a small pile of items piled in front of her.

"Alright Claire, what is it?" I asked her. A change in pace would be good for the mind.

"Well, it's just that a couple of us have been gathering the personal items from inside the plane—a tribute to the fallen—but most of the others have been pulled for brush duty, so I've been stuck doing it by myself." She pushed against the small of her back, leaning back to take pressure off of it. "I've . . . gotten tired," she confessed, almost sounding ashamed of it. "Could you carry on for me? I'd really appreciate it."

I looked into the darkness that was the fuselage, the scent of death reeking out of it like the stench of a sewer grate. I finally realized that Claire had asked me to head into the plane wreck, to pull out suitcases and other goods. The idea of going in there turned the sweat on my back to ice.

"You mean, in the _plane_?" I asked, feeling a little embarrassed that this petite pregnant girl was willing to go where I was terrified to go.

"Well, obviously," Claire replied, rolling her eyes, "That's where all the belongings are."

I sucked in my breath and squeaked out, "Okay."  
"You alright?" she asked me. "You look a bit pale."  
"It's nothing, nothing at all!" I told her, turning to face the fuselage. It was dark and ominous, the gaping hole I was about to enter though looking like a gaping maw.

_Why couldn't Jack have asked me to do this? Then I could have refused!_

Claire's eyes had pleaded with me. She was in need of a champion! In lieu of one she got me, a coward not yet twenty, a lanky kid with a mat of brown hair, squinting out of one eye due to a missing contact.

I sucked in another breath and headed into the beast, praying that I'd come out again.

The first thing I noticed about the inside of the plane was the sudden drop in light, it went from dazzling to blind man in seconds. The second was the creepy way my feet made a metallic clang was I walked on the roof of the plane. The seats were above my head, and so were the bodies.

It was grim. The lifeless passengers looked down at me, judging me with their empty eyes, looking at me with envy and pity. I couldn't bear to look at them, so I looked down. Pity, there were bodies on the floor too.

_Claire's been in here you bloody coward! She's pregnant and a woman to boot! If she can handle it you can too you big baby!_

I stepped gingerly over the sprawled corpse of a flight attendant and headed towards a pare of suitcases on the ground that had clearly fallen from the open overhead bin. I picked both up, resisted the urge to spin around and bolt from the fuselage. I took one and then two calm steps. That's as long as I lasted, I bolted from the plane wreck, hopping a body along the way. I burst from the plane a suitcase in each hand, sweating like Hurley after a run, waving my arms frantically.

Claire stood outside, eyebrow raised at my antics. Embarrassed by my antics I instantly lowered both cases to the ground and shrugged. "Piece of cake."

"You alright? I could get Charlie to do this if it makes you uncomfortable?"  
"No!" I snapped, my manly pride dictating that I could handle this for the maiden in distress. "I can handle it!"

I squared my shoulders and went back into the plane, trying hard not to panic or hyperventilate. This time I came out with two cases and a bag. A third and a forth time went without incident, Claire telling me how much she appreciated my help and me trying not to pee myself. The fifth time I picked up a bag with a broken zipper, spilling its contents. Cursing, I bent to retrieve the scattered objects. They consisted of personal items and such, basic things, except for a small book. It was covered in pictures with a lace boarder. My curiosity got the better of me and I opened it. The words, "Steven and Kristen, together forever" covered the first page, followed by a picture of the young couple. I flipped a few pages, the book was full of wedding plans.

The pictures matched no one alive on the plane, Steve and Kristen hadn't made it. I closed the book and placed it back in the bag. Rising from my crouching position a thought struck me.

_These passengers were people, they lived real lives and had plans and dreams. They deserve a proper send-off._

This time my exit from this plane was slow and reverent. This was a graveyard true, but it belonged to people that could've been me under a different set of circumstances.

Claire was sitting on a suitcase, hands on her hips, trying to get comfortable. "Find anything interesting?"  
"This," I told her simply, handing her the book.

Claire took it with a slight smile. That smile faded when she read the contents. She flipped though the book, getting more and more misty eyed as she went though it.

"We need a proper send off for these people." I stated, glancing down at my feet.

Claire nodded, "They deserve a funeral." She put the book down and leaned back, eyes closed. She tried to hide it but I noticed that tear tracks had cleared little trails down her dusty cheeks. "Who do you think should do it?" She asked me, as if I had the power to dictate the future.

"I don't know Claire," I told her honestly, pinching the bridge of my nose, eyes closed. "I don't know who could do it. Do you think that Jack might have an idea? He is a doctor after all; they tend to be knowledgeable about funerals and such."

Claire nodded thoughtfully, "I'll go see him, and maybe he will have some good ideas. In the meantime...?" She nodded toward the fuselage.

"I'd love too," I told her, not at all facetiously. Claire smiled, waved and headed off to find Jack.

Me? I looked at the resting place of the passengers of flight 815 and headed in. I had belongings to acquire.


	10. Chapter 10 A Trio of Fishermen

**Chapter 10**

**"A Trio of Fishermen"**

Claire came back to me a while later, a queer sort of look on her face. I'd just about emptied the plane's remains but this point. I was taking the last couple bags out.

"So," I asked her, dropping another set of bags in the rapidly growing pile we were assembling, "what did Jack say?"

"Funerals aren't his thing," Claire told me, sitting down in the sand. "He sounded very upset when I mentioned the idea of him leading it."

"So I guess our good doctor isn't going to be running the memorial," I answered as I took a seat next to her.

"No, he's not," she responded, turning to face me. Her hair bounced a bit as she did so. It was very cute. I was glad to see that the scar on her chin had just about healed.

My stomach grumbled a bit, but I tired to ignore it. Either Locke, Michael and Kate would come back with food, or they wouldn't. It was that simple.

"He suggested that maybe . . . I do it?" she half-told me/half-asked me, tilting her head. She sounded almost embarrassed by the concept of her leading the memorial.

It actually made sense to me. "I think you'd be good," I told her simply, my tone neutral.

"Why?" she asked me. "What makes me qualified? I don't know the first thing about funerals." She seemed upset.

"Because you're the most compassionate person I've ever met," I told her simply, "You're kind and gentle and intelligent. You'd be perfect."

As soon as that all tumbled out of my mouth I realized what a love-struck idiot I sounded like.

Claire nodded appreciatively, "Thanks for the vote of confidence, Alec," she returned, "it was sweet." She stood up, not noticing me blush. "I better get to work, finding passports and whatnot. Might as well make sure this funeral is a decent memorial. See you around." She smiled at me and headed off on her own, no doubt to sort through the piles of personal documents and papers.

I stared after her as she walked away, hair blowing in the wind, a spring in her step despite the baby.

_Wow._

"Hey, mate, admiring the view?" A British voice cut into my daydreaming.

I spun around rapidly, falling down in the sand as I tried. My eyes gazed up to look into the face of one Charlie Pace, grinning like an idiot.

"She's nice, isn't she?" he asked me, his smile taking up his entire face.

"No! Yes! Well, that's not important!" I babbled out, realizing just how stupid I sounded as I said it

"No? Yes? Made up your mind?" Charlie pressed me, no doubt enjoying himself.

"Yes, she's a nice person," I admitted, "and pretty."

"You're too easy to tease," Charlie joked, slapping me in the back. "I was wondering if you could help me with something. Hurley's in on it, too."

"Sure. Why not?"

"Excellent," Charlie headed off towards the beach, a smirk on his face.

"So, what did I just agree to do?" I asked him nonchalantly as we walked along.

"Nothing much, just a little fishing trip, that's all," he answered, handing me something. It was a long branch, almost as tall as me, with a jagged chunk of metal tied to the end.

"I'm using this?" I asked, not quite sure if he was serious.

"Of course! We don't have many fishing rods around here." He paused, as if thinking. "You _have_ gone fishing before, right? "

"Uh, a long time ago, with my grandpa. Long story. My grandparents looked after me a lot. Haven't in years, truth be told."

"It's alright," Charlie continued, undaunted, "between the three of us I'm sure we can get something!"

"What's the fish even for?" I asked him, my curiosity getting the better of me.

"Uh," Charlie looked away, scratching his head, "Shannon."

_Oh. Well, I suppose I can help my mate out._

I didn't press him about it. There was nothing to gain.

Hurley was already standing waist deep in the water, jabbing into it with a similar sized spear.

"Any luck yet?" Charlie asked excitedly.

"Dude! I just started five minutes ago! I don't even have bait!" Hurley snapped back.

"Sorry, mate." We joined Hurley, up to our waists in the water. It was crisp, but warmer than I expected.

The fish were dashing around underneath us. Out of curiosity to see how good I'd be, I jabbed my spear into the water. The fish darted away, before I even got close. This was going to be harder than I thought.

Hurley made another quick jab into the ocean, managing to catch nothing.

"I guess you're not much better at this than me," I told Hurley in a bemused tone.

"Dude, I'm pretty good with a pole and bait! This is trying to stab a rapidly moving creature with a sharp stick!"

"Appreciate the help, guys," Charlie told us as Hurley continued to poke at the water, growing more and more irritated with his lack of success.

"Hey, anything that keeps me far away from that fuselage," Hurley stated, eyeing one lazily floating fish eagerly. "And that freakin' redneck jerk!" He stabbed furiously, shouting the last word like a battle-cry. It was hard not to laugh at the fish that kept swimming by undisturbed.

"AUGH!" Hurley screamed in frustration. "Dang it! Crap! Crap! Son of a—!" He smashed his spear into the water furiously with each cry, causing little tidal waves.

"Do you want me to have a go?" Charlie asked, offering his hand to take the spear.

Hurley looked back at him. "Knock yourself out," he stated calmly, handing Charlie the spear.

"Don't poke yourself in the foot now!" I told the Brit with a chuckle, perusing a fish of my own with the point.

"Thanks, mate," Charlie replied sarcastically. I just shook my head.

Charlie took the spear, hunching forward ever so slightly, eyes intently on the same fat fish Hurley had gone after.

Hurley went into some sort of fishing-mentor mode, standing behind Charlie, "Shift your weight like that. Wait for it." Charlie shivered with anticipation but he waited. "Wait for it . . ." Hurley commanded. The fish swam even closer to the Brit's foot. "NOW!" Hurley roared.

Charlie threw his full weight behind the stab, overextended his reach and went underwater with a great splash.

Hurley and I started killing ourselves laughing as Charlie emerged from the water, soaked and sputtering.

"Try pinning it!" I suggested in between laughter.

"No, did you see how close I was?" Charlie asked, rising up again, holding his fingers in such a way to represent the distance. "Hurley said to corner it." Hurley kept laughing, pulling Charlie up with one hand.

The three of us laughed heartily, even after the large wave bowled us over onto our backs.

It was then, lying on my back, water in my ears, gazing at a sky of the purest blue, the sound of laughter ringing in my ears that I had a profound realization. I was happy. My spirit was calm. A peace had descended over me, one I hadn't felt in a long time. These men were my friends, my good and true friends. The feeling quickly passed but it left a strange sense of euphoria. One I'd remember forever.

"Alright, then. That was fun," Charlie murmured, not bothering to rise.

"That fish got the better of us, dude," Hurley mumbled, still on his back.

"We going to try again? Or is our little 'Three Stooges' expedition over?" I asked my friends.

"We should change our names to Larry, Moe and Curley," Charlie said, struggling not to laugh anymore, "We've even got the build! I'm short, you're tall and Hurley's big!"

"Hey!" Hurley cried out indignantly, before he started cackling. I followed and soon we were laughing again.

I wiped little tears of laughter from my eyes, chuckling heavily. "Alright, guys, we've got a fish to defeat."

In the end it took well over an hour to snare a fish. Our jabbing poles proved to be less than effective. We ended up in a tangled mess, pinning the fish with the sheer weight of our bodies. Charlie managed to hang onto the aquatic animal long enough to get it on shore. Hurley managed to catch it as it made another escape attempt. Bashing its head against a stone several times proved to be an effective method of stopping it.

Hurley handed the now limp prize to Charlie. "Here you go man. I hope it was worth it."

"Thanks, guys. Really," Charlie told us, taking the fish and one of the poles. He cocked his face into his best British smile and headed off to find Shannon.

"Dude, I haven't had that much exercise in a long time," Hurley grumbled.

"Me neither," I answered, a bit embarrassed by that. "Dang fish."

Hurley snorted. "Got that right. Man, I hope Locke and the others come back with meat. Stuff I don't have to work for!"

I smiled at him. "Anyways, I should head back and help Claire prepare for the funeral tonight. And pitch in to set up the flammables. For the pyre. And stuff."

"I think I'll keep fishing," Hurley told me, wiping his hand off on his shirt, "I don't like the fuselage."

I shook my friend's hand. "No problem, mate. Don't worry, I won't rat you out."

"Thanks, dude."

I saluted my friend and headed toward the beach. The fuselage was starting to look like cloth and wood, as opposed to its former metal self. Claire was surrounded by a smile pile of papers and booklets. Her blonde hair was pulled back into a pony-tail as she sorted everything into little piles.

My approach wasn't unnoticed by her. "You're wet," she observed casually, her tone completely neutral.

I shrugged eloquently. "I was fishing."  
"All this time?" She didn't sound like she bought my story, which ironically enough was true.

"All this time," I echoed, trying to ignore how ridiculous it sounded.

"How much did you catch?" Claire asked, not looking up from her sorting.

"Between Charlie, Hurley and I? One fish."

"Really?"

I nodded sheepishly.

Claire chuckled. "You really are terrible fishermen."

"That we are," I responded. My eyes caught up the piles of documents surrounding her. "So, how are preparations coming along?"

"They're coming," Claire answered honestly. "How well, I don't know. It won't be the best funeral. That's one thing I know."

"Claire, you're going to do great."

She finally looked up at me, her eyes shinning with gratitude. "Thanks, Alec."

"Happy to help," I told her, maintaining my composure and not grinning like an idiot.

_I__'__d do anything to see you smile, to see your eyes twinkle like they do._

"You'll never guess who gave me this," Claire challenged me out of the blue, waving a passport at me.

"Sayid?" I asked her. She shook her head. "Jack?" Again no.

"Sawyer," she stated simply. "He gave me this, said I should use it in the funeral."

"Sawyer?" I asked incredulously. "You mean Mr. Hoarder? He _gave _you something?" I didn't buy it. It seemed too farfetched.

"Well he did," Claire answered. "Sounded awfully embarrassed about it, though, like he had never given anyone anything in his life."

"He probably hasn't," I stated confidently with a smirk. She smiled at that.

"I'm just about finished with preparations," Claire mused aloud, sounding embarrassed. "Could I ask you a favor?"

"Um, yeah, sure. No problem," I answered, trying desperately not to reveal just how ready I was to do anything she asked.

"When I do the funeral tonight, could you . . ." She paused. "Could you hold the torch and stand next to me? I'd like it if someone I knew were with me. Confidence boost and all that."

"Claire, I'd stand with you all night," I phrased it to sound like I was deliberately exaggerating, but she had no idea just what a true statement that was.

"What?" I asked her as she gazed past my face, looking at something I couldn't see.

"It's the hunting party. They're back. And Michael looks hurt," Claire informed me, holding a hand over her eyes to shield them from the sun.

I took off towards them, Hurley had arrived and was bracing Michael as best as he could. Walt beat me to them, calling out to his father.

Kate stood off on her own; I could see no sign of Locke. I grabbed Michael's other arm and me and Hurley began to walk him back to our little camp.

"So, like, what happened out there?" Hurley asked from Michael's other side.

"Hey, dad!" Walt called out. "Your leg's all messed up! Does it hurt?"

"It's okay, it's not as bad as it looks!" Michael answered cheerfully.

I kept glancing around looking for Locke but there was still no sign of him.

"Michael, where's Locke?" I asked, cutting off Walt's next question.

He's face turned grim. Walt looked up expectantly.

"Locke . . ." Michael paused, "didn't make it."

"What?" I asked, shocked. "What do you mean?"  
"He just sorta went off on his own," Michael grunted. "I was out of it at the time, that's what Kate told me. We haven't seen any sign of him since."  
I dropped Michael's arm and went after Kate. If Hurley was angry that I left him, he didn't say anything. I guess he could tell how upset I was.

Kate had just wrapped up a conversation with our Arab companion when I approached her. She looked up at me, reading the angry look I must no doubt have plastered on my face. I didn't have time for pleasantries. "Where's Mr. Locke?" I asked her sharply, my tone still even.

"Look, Alec . . ." Kate started.

"Where's Locke!" I roared in her face. I don't know why, but the thought of losing the older man had upset me greatly. The things he'd said to me had struck a cord, whether I wanted it to or not.

"We got separated," Kate started, her eyes sad. "A boar attacked Michael. I told Locke we'd have to go back to camp. He stood up and walked off into the woods on his own, muttering something about 'not telling him what he couldn't do.' "

"And you just let him?" I snapped at her.

"Yeah! Michael was bleeding out and Locke was gone! What was I supposed to do?" she yelled back at me.

"We have to go back for him!" I stated fiercely, running towards the tree line.

"Are you crazy?" Kate yelled, dashing after me. "You'll be torn apart in the woods alone and unarmed."

I didn't care. The thought of anyone alone in those jungles sat in my brain like a needle. I had to help him.

I broke though the tree line, Kate on my heels. I then realized how foolish I was for dashing off into the jungle, unarmed.

Almost instantly I heard a rustling in the jungle and it chilled me to the bone. My lower back tingled in fear and my legs wobbled. I glanced around with rapid jarring movements, trying to get a glance at whatever was making the crashing noises. Kate stood behind me, eyes wide.

"What is it?" she asked me, sounding nervous.

"I don't know," I breathed back as the bush in front of me started rustling. I balled my hands into fists and leaned back on my foot, even though my puny fists would have absolutely no impact on a boar or whatever else was living in this blasted jungle.

My eyes widened as I saw what came out of the bush. A very battered, bloody, but still alive Mr. Locke. He had a blood-stained knife in one hand and he was dragging a dead boar with the other.

"I brought dinner," he stated nonchalantly.

"Locke, you're alive!" I said, my tone joyous.

"I don't intend to die just yet," he replied with a pleasant smile. "Could you give me a hand carrying this thing? It's getting a little heavy."

"How'd you kill that boar?" Kate asked, staring at the corpse in awe.

"With a knife," Locke answered, taking up the boar's front legs with one hand as I struggled with the back two legs, with both hands. This boar may have been only a piglet, but it was heavy.

"By yourself?" she asked in a tone implying that she didn't believe it.

"Yep," was the older man's only reply, a slight smile on his face.

We began to carry the hog back to camp, Locke's blood-stained face beaming with triumph.

"Did you see the monster?" Kate asked suddenly, as she walked beside us.

"What?"

"The monster, did you see it? It was headed right for you."

"No way!" I said. "Whatever that thing was, you beat it!"  
Locke chuckled a bit at my enthusiasm. "No, Kate, I didn't see it."

She didn't ask any more questions, but Jack certainly did when we dumped the boar at his feet.

"What's this?" he asked in surprise.

"Supper. Should go nice with some spices. Unfortunately, I haven't had time to go into the jungle and look for any yet, so plain roasted boar meat will have to do for tonight."

"I though you were dead."

Locke just smiled.


	11. Chapter 11 Fire&Water A Few Weeks Early

**Chapter 11**

"**Fire + Water, Several Weeks Early"**

"Dude! This is the best boar meat I've ever had!" Hurley said around a mouthful of the stuff, spitting copious chunks in the process.

"And you've had much boar meat?" Charlie asked, a slight smirk on his bearded face.

"Well, no. But if I did, this would be the best!"

"I just think it's nice to have something hot again," I said, my stomach taking on pleasant warmth from the meat. I could almost feel the glow. It felt nice.

"Can't argue with that," Charlie stated, taking another bite out of his own.

"So you say this Locke guy killed the boar, all by himself?" Hurley asked. "That's hardcore, dude."

"I didn't see it," I corrected. "But he must have. I mean he was dragging the thing in alone."

"I wouldn't want to meet that geezer in a dark ally," Charlie commented. "Though, with his kind old man look you probably wouldn't know how dangerous he was until your intestines were piled on the ground."

"I'm just glad the dude's on our side," Hurley stated, spitting boar meat everywhere as he did.

Charlie and I nodded simultaneously.

"Pity this fine mood is going to be spoiled by the funeral," Charlie said out of the blue.

"I agreed to hold the torch for Claire," I said casually.

"Of course you did," the Brit muttered.

"I'm helping to pass the passports and stuff," Hurley added. "I'm just glad to be rid of the fuselage. That thing was creepy."

I nodded, though I couldn't help but remember my own profound experience with the plane wreckage.

"I wish I knew the time, but I seem to have misplaced my watch," Charlie said humorously.

I shrugged. "I doubt anyone has one. Once people set the thing alight, then we'll know."

The others were in little crowds on their own. Locke seemed to be the big man on campus, getting praise from everyone. To tell the truth, he looked rather uncomfortable being in the spotlight.

"What's the conversation like here?" a thickly accented voice asked the three of us.

We turned as one to see Sayid, standing with a large leaf held like a napkin around a piece of boar meat. The Arab looked tired. Like Jack, being a leader seemed to have taken its toll on him.

"Aye! Sayid! Take a seat mate!" Charlie called jubilantly, patting a spot in the sand next to him.

Sayid slumped into the spot, his knees coming up to his chest. "Thank you, I was growing weary of standing."  
"Dude, I know. The plane chairs aren't the most comfortable things, but they beat standing," Hurley piped up, spitting meat all over his shirt.

Sayid just nodded, digging into his meal with barely concealed hunger.

"The conversation over here has been fine, revolving around tonight's funeral," I added, tossing my leaf napkin in the fire. "You're attending, right?" I asked. Given his earlier disapproval of burning the fuselage I was unsure.

"Yes, Alec, I am," Sayid answered without ceremony. "My honor dictates I do no less." The tone was firm, unyielding.

"Well, I guess that answers that." Charlie muttered.

* * *

"She wore glasses, according to her passport photo," Claire stated, her voice full of compassion, almost as if she'd known the women personally. Her face looked solemn and yet peaceful in the flickering light of the torch I was holding. The heat from the flame licked my face with its warmth. Doziness was setting in, but I had made a commitment to help Claire, and I meant it.

"Steve and Kristen," Claire smiled as she held the young couple's book in her hands. "I remember them because . . . they were so in love." I could swear a tear trickled down her cheek, glistening in the torchlight. "At least wherever they are now, they're together."

The list of the dead was long, and each person was special. They all had people who'd loved them, reasons to be in Australia, stories that we'd never see unfold. Each had had their life cut brutally short, and each sent a chill up my spine.

_That could have been me. Any of these could have been me._

"Megan Ginter," Claire continued on. "She was young, a woman from Spain. She'd come with her friend Micaela—a native of Texas—for a vacation. She was short, with brown hair. According to her passport, she was nineteen." Claire moved the young woman's passport from the one suitcase to the other as Hurley handed her another passport.

My eyes drifted out into the crowd, taking everyone in. Locke stood towards the back arms folded, watching the wheel-chair we'd used for fuel burn away. His eyes held a mysterious smile as he gazed at it. Sawyer stood even farther back, almost as if embarrassed to be present. Sayid's eyes were closed, his head tilted respectfully, honoring the fallen. Even Jack was present, despite his claim that funerals weren't his thing. Kate stood next to him, looking respectful. Every one of us had turned out. Even the Asians, even though there was no way they could have understood a word of it.

The masking tape on my knuckles was starting to itch, dirt having built up underneath it and the skin. They were going to need to be changed soon.

Claire was going on in marvelous form, despite her initial disbelief in her own capacity. I could see her trembling, ever so slightly. Her small form was shivering despite the warm firing burning behind her.

She was doing great, carrying herself well despite the pressure.

Another name came tumbling off of her lips. She read this passport with the same reverence the others had received. I didn't hear any details about this person. My eyelids drooped, and the heat of the torch felt so appealing. I dozed off a bit, not sure how long. Claire was wrapping up the final passport when I snapped back to reality.

"These people, they were like us," Claire began. "They took this flight for many different reasons. Ultimately their journeys ended. If we survive, we honor their memories." Claire turned and looked back at the flaming remains of the fuselage. Her eyes watered with pent up emotion. Sensing the cue that the semi-formal funeral was over, individuals approached the fuselage as close as they dared. Others simply departed. Claire's shoulders slumped, drained of the energy that had kept her going.

The masking tape wrapped around my fingers itched furiously; the sand trapped under it rubbing against my skin with vigor. I'd have to replace them. Charlie probably had more.

Claire slumped into the sand, sitting legs extended. Without word or pretence I sat next to her, watching the fuselage burn away. The light from the fire reflected in her blue orbs, burning brightly. She looked beyond beautiful.

She slipped her hand through my fingers and laid her head on my shoulder. I became aware of how sweaty my hand must be but I didn't let go. "Thank you." There were no other words exchanged. We just sat together, two friends thrown together by incredible circumstances. Casually I wrapped my free arm around Claire's shoulder and held her against me. The wind was cool but I didn't feel it. I wanted this moment to go on forever. Claire and I sat silently watching the plane's remains burn into the night.

* * *

The first thing that I was aware of when I awoke was the hot breath on my face, then the slender arm on my shoulder. My eyes snapped open and saw Claire's face, eyes closed and features composed. Her cute button nose flared as warm breath came out onto my face.

My head was resting against my makeshift pillow so we had in fact made it back to the tent. I looked around and saw that Hurley, Charlie and Scott were still sleeping under our little shelter. My mind raced to deduce what had happened.

Claire must have kicked off her blanket in her sleep. The wind was chilly at night so she had naturally rolled towards the nearest heat source. Me.

I instantly felt a warm feeling, lying next to the object of my affections, like we were an old married couple. I firmly decided to pretend to be asleep so the moment could last as long as possible. Tentatively I slipped my arm around Claire, like it had happened by accident. The Australian woman snorted a little and squirmed closer to me.

_Wow. _I was in heaven.

Until Hurley groggily shuffled to his feet, groaning like an angry bear, his hair messed up. I squinted my eyes to the point they looked closed, hoping Hurley didn't get the wrong impression.

Thankfully the big man didn't seem to notice; he rubbed his eyes with meaty hands, scratched his behind and then stumbled out from under the tarp. No doubt my friend had decided to answer the call of nature.

I turned to look at the sleeping woman next to me. Her head was resting firmly on my shoulder and her arm was around me. Cautiously I tilted my head down to meet hers. I only intended to shut my eyes for a moment, but Claire was so warm next to me, and felt so right, my lids dropped.

"You seem to have found yourself a nicer pillow." The British tone cut through the fog of my sleep.

Panicked my eyes snapped open to see Charlie's grinning face staring down at me, his beard giving him a maniac look. I could feel my face flush with heat as I disengaged from the sleeping woman. "This isn't what you think it is!" I replied honestly to Charlie.

"Really?" he answered snidely, arms folded across his chest. An infuriating grin played upon his bearded face. Miraculously, Hurley was still out and neither Claire nor Scott had woken up.

"She must've kicked her blanket off in her sleep, so my body heat would've attracted her over in the night . . ." I stammered out, my mind so muddled.

Charlie seemed to be enjoying himself. "How's about we leave the tent and say nothing about this to the young mother-to-be? I don't think her hormones could handle the news. She'd probably go into labor on the spot."

I nodded my assent, standing and making a beeline for the exit. I snatched up the masking tape and sharpie as I went.

The sun shone brightly upon the island's sixth day. I threw a hand up to shield my eyes from the brilliant rays. I pressed on, tarring the spent masking tape from my fingers and replacing it with blank fresh pieces. I thought for a moment before writing "Face" down across the four fingers. Probably not the most creative thing I could have put down but probably not the worst.

I leaned back, stretching out my lower back with a satisfying crack. The warm sun massaged my face. My eyes were adjusting to the lack of contacts. It was weird. Almost as if the eyes were fixing themselves.

I began to stroll casually down the beach towards my chess board. The pieces remained, standing erect and proud, waiting for a game. I picked a twig off the beach and tossed it in the air.

It landed with its primary point facing the jungle. White had won the opening toss. I started by advancing White's centre pawn two spaces. Black followed with a traditional right Knight opening.

"Dude! I solved another two!" Hurley announced from behind me. His appearance had come so quickly, I was unprepared for it.

"What?" I asked, surprised.

"Two more of those crossword questions. 12-up 'Canada' and 43-down 'other'. Dude, we're close to completing this thing!"

I was more than happy to have that first question finished. I was horrible at Crosswords. "Great! How many more do we have to go?"

Hurley's face scrunched up in a mask of concentration. "About fifteen. At this rate . . ."

He was cut off by the feet of people rushing past us. Charlie was among them.

"What's going on, man?" I shouted at him.

"Some woman's drowning! Jack's gone after her!"

I stood in seconds, sprinting towards the beach. Most people had formed an audience around the beach, watching but not getting their feet wet. Sayid, Kate and Michael were standing expectantly in the surf.

I shoved my way through the crowd, ignoring the cries of protest until I was standing in the surf myself. "What's going on?" I asked Sayid, looking out into the ocean.

"A woman was sucked into a riptide. Jack went after her," he answered.

"We've got to help!" I shouted, striding forward into the surf. Sayid's hand moved faster than my eye could follow, snatching my arm and holding it in a vice-like grip.

"If you go out now, you'll only make matters worse!" Sayid ordered, not loosening his grip. "You'll get pulled into the riptide and Jack will no doubt drown trying to save you both. If you truly want to help Jack, aid us in bringing him ashore."

I wanted to argue, to tell him that he was wrong, but I couldn't. So I just stood, teeth clenched.

Presently we saw the form of Jack dragging someone with him back to the shore. He was swimming as fast as he could, miniature waves following in his wake.

Sayid and I went deeper into the water, arms outstretched. Jack shoved someone into our arms, but it wasn't a woman. Boone coughed out some water, sagging next to unconsciousness into our arms.

"Jack?" Sayid enquired.

"No time!" he shouted at us as he dashed back out into the ocean, swimming with all his might. We watched him disappear from sight as the semi-conscious Boone was dragged up to the shore.

As Kate preformed CPR on Boone, Sayid and I went back into the water, waiting for a sign of Jack and the woman. The seconds ticked by agonizingly, feeling like minutes and minutes like hours.

Much sooner than it felt, a tell-tale trail worked its way through the water as Jack returned. Alone. His face looked twenty years older as he dragged himself ashore.

Sagging to the ground as soon as he made it into the shallows, Jack tried to explain the situation. "I was too late . . . she . . . she—" his sentence ended in abrupt coughing.

Between the Arab and myself was dragged the doc to shore. "She's gone. I couldn't save her," his rambling hacking phrases went on.

"It's alright, Jack, you tried your best." I said in my own attempt at a calm Doctor's voice. It was pathetic.

"No. No, I didn't," Jack countered, shaking his head with all the strength he could muster. "If I had she'd still be alive . . ."

"Jack," Kate threw her own opinion in, "you need to rest. You look exhausted. How much sleep have you gotten recently?"

"Enough."

"Jack, you're going to collapse if you continue," Sayid stated simply, without fanfare.

Jack shook his head as if shaking the fatigue away. "I still have to take stock of our water supplies today . . ."

"I'll do it!" I piped up. The last thing we needed was for our only doctor to collapse from exhaustion. I didn't have anything better to do anyway. "I'll round up Charlie and Hurley and we'll bring you a report."

"That sounds like a good idea," Sayid supported. "You rest. The others will handle this."

"I've got other things to do . . ." Jack began again, sagging slightly.

"I'll do them," Kate cut him off. "What ever it is, I can handle it. You're exhausted and drained from trying to save that woman. You have to rest."  
No amount of protest would change her stance.


	12. Chapter 12 Someone Swipes the Water

**Chapter 12**

"**Someone Swipes the Water"**

"Hey, mate! Pay attention!" Charlie lobbed an empty water battle at me, striking me in the ear fairly hard. I'd been glancing down the beach at Claire. She'd found a boon cap, to shield her from the sun. For whatever reason she looked very pretty with the cap on her head. Maybe that was just me. Sorting clothes with Kate, Claire sat not far from our water work. The pair were smiling and chatting, so maybe I wasn't paying as much attention as I should have.

I instinctively flung my hand up to my head to cover the small bruise. "I am!"

"Yeah, to Claire! It was your idea to sort the bottles in the first place! So help out a little."

I turned back to the work. Our results weren't pleasant. We'd looked at these bottles for an hour. But there was no way around it.

"Dudes, it's not enough." Hurley pointed out.

"I know, Hurley," I stated, looking at the stack of bottles we'd placed in the ugliest red suitcase I'd ever seen in my life. There were fifteen. Not nearly enough for forty people. Even for a day.

"Jack's going to want to know how low we are on water," Charlie commented. "I doubt he's going to be Mr. Sunshine about the numbers."

"He needs to know now," I stated, confidant in the answer. "He needs to know so we can come up with a plan."

"Can't argue with that," Hurley added, picking up the suitcase and depositing it onto of a makeshift table we'd fashioned under the doctor's tent. The last time I'd been in here was watching the Marshal, so few days and yet so long ago. Not the most pleasant memory.

"Alright, rock-paper-scissors to see who gets Jack?" I asked. "Since I'm sure no one wants to walk down the beach to get him."

"Right, you versus me and then winner versus Hurley," Charlie stated confidently. He seemed confident in his ability to beat me.

Sure enough, he did. "Alright, mate, you and Hurley, for the right to fetch Jack," the Brit announced, arms folded across his chest, an impish grin across his bearded face.

I threw down paper, Hurley a rock.

"Crap!" The large man proclaimed, as he saw the results.

"Sorry Hurley, the doctor awaits," I told him with an elaborate gesture.

He grumbled, heading off towards our tired leader to get him over here.

"Why don't we just go to him?" Charlie asked me.

"The fewer people see us going there the better," I told him, "and I don't want any word of the shortage getting out before Jack knows about it. The less we move the less likely someone is to hear us."

Jack came back with Hurley within moments. He looked just as haggard as he had when I left him on the beach. Something told me he hadn't slept.

"That's it?" he asked without preamble looking at the pathetic collection of bottles in the ugly suitcase.

"That's it," I announced without ceremony.

"How many?"

"Fifteen," Charlie answered.

"People just kinda took what they needed 'cause, you know, we were supposed to be rescued." Hurley added, tugging at the sweat band on his wrist. "Except we're not."

"We thought about splitting them up," I told Jack, "But even then it wouldn't be enough for forty-seven people."

"Forty-_six_," Jack corrected bitterly. "There are forty-six of us now."

"People find out this is all we have left, they're gonna freak out, man," Hurley announced.

"In a panic situation like this it'd get really ugly really fast, Jack," I added, "Someone's going to get hurt, or killed."

Charlie decided to rain a little more on this already gloomy parade. "The boar's also starting to run low. We need to catch another one. What should we tell them?"

The three of us looked at Jack expectantly. He was the leader, after all, and we were just the lost survivors of a plane crash.

"I don't know," he said simply.

"It needs to rain again," I said.

"Maybe we could make one of those water-finding sticks?" Hurley suggested, though I had no clue what a 'water-finding stick' was.

Charlie had opinions also. "What do we do until it rains again?"

"I don't know." Jack turned and strode away, his stance betraying his impatience. The three of us looked at each other. Almost without thinking Charlie shut the lid of the ugly red suitcase and we chased after Jack.

"We should put it in the tent, yeah?" Charlie asked.

"Good idea," I replied. "That way no one will have any idea how little we have unless they look."

"Maybe the dog can find water?" Hurley mused aloud. "I mean, dogs can find pot and bombs so . . . maybe water's not too far a stretch?"

"Let's tell the others were running low," Charlie stated, putting the case down on the make-shift table in the medical tent. "Then you can decide . . ."

"I'm not deciding anything!" Jack roared at us, causing instant silence. We looked at him blankly. Wasn't he our leader?

_He__'__s just as scared as the rest of us._

"Why not?" Hurley asked after a while.

Jack looked back at us in silence, almost as if he didn't know what to tell us. Then he walked away. He just left, without a word he just left.

We looked at each other. "That could've gone better," Charlie muttered.

The next couple of hours were a blur of everything and nothing. I ate boar meat; I began to set up a more permanent tent structure; I played chess with myself; I played backgammon with Walt. All of the details of the morning are unimportant.

I had the White locked into a checkmate when Walt dashed past me towards Kate, screaming words that chilled me to the bone.

"Help, help!" he yelled as loudly as his little lungs would allow. "The pregnant lady fell down!"

That got me to my feet in an instant. Everything around me blurred. Michael and Charlie were carrying Claire between them. She was unconsciousness and unmoving. The world around me dimmed until all I could see was her face; eyes shut and lips unmoving.

I dashed next to the pair, throwing my arms under Claire's prone form. They didn't need three people to support her, but I didn't care. Maybe my presence could keep her from harm. I was vaguely aware of Kate behind me but I barely registered her. "What happened?" I asked Charlie, not hiding the panic in my voice.

"I don't know, she just dropped."

"It must be the heat," Kate answered, sounding worried.

"Issheokayisshebreathing?" I asked as quickly as I could form the words, aiding in hustling the woman along as fast as I could.

"I think so." Charlie gave me little comfort with that answer.

"Come on, let's get her under the tarp!" Kate ordered shoving the blue entrance way aside. The three of us carried her in, holding her as gently as possible. It felt like she was burning up in my arms as we laid her down on the make-shift bed.

"Claire? Claire, honey?" Kate asked moving Claire's head and looking into her face. Michael began removing her boots, I clutched her hand in both my own. I didn't care what anyone thought of me. I care about this woman, a lot. I wasn't ready to say I loved her. But I knew in my heart I did . . . And that was enough. I didn't want to lose her before I came to grips with my feelings.

"Wake up, come on." Kate continued talking to her, patting her gently on the cheek in an attempt to wake her. "Can you hear me? Please wake up."

Claire's eyes opened a fraction and she glanced around a bit. "What?" she asked in a tiny, weak sounding voice. It was the most beautiful thing I'd ever heard.

"You passed out," Kate informed her softly, hand still held in place against Claire's forehead. My hands clutched hers tightly. If she even noticed my presence in her state, she didn't show it. She just kept looking blankly at Kate. Charlie and Michael stood by, waiting for a task.

"You need to take it easy, okay?" Kate told Claire, to which the Australian nodded slowly. Kate then turned her head towards Charlie. "She needs water."

Charlie nodded and went towards the place where we'd stashed the water. I'd have helped him but I didn't want to leave Claire's side out of an almost irrational panic that she'd fade away without me anchoring her to reality.

Kate continued to talk softly to Claire while Charlie rustled around in the tent for the water. He stood suddenly, "The water's gone," he announced.

"What do you mean gone?" I shot back, standing to my feet. I made a beeline for the tub where the water should be. I pulled things out, tossing them aside. Bags, books, pill cases anything and everything. I turned the tub over and dumped everything, pawing frantically through the pile. I pulled the draws out of Jack medical cart, I opened all the suitcases, ransacked them, no sign of the water. My level of panic rose rapidly. "It's got to be here somewhere!" I cried out in frustration and panic.

"No it isn't," Charlie announced. "Somebody stole it!"

I put down the now empty suitcase in my hands. "Stole it, huh? I bet you I know who did it."

I began walking away from the tent, my face set, my stride betraying anger and fear. "Don't do anything stupid!" Charlie called after me but I shut him out. I knew who'd taken the water. Who else would have?

Sure enough he was sitting outside his newly fashioned tent in a plane chair, a magazine in his hands and a cigarette in his lips. Sawyer looked up as I approached.

"Well, if it ain't Captain Canuck," he grinned at me, the cigarette drooping, "What can I do you for?"

"Where is it, Sawyer?" I asked him angrily. I wasn't in the mood to be jerked around. Every second I wasted was one more that Claire could be drinking that water and getting stronger.

"Where is what?" he asked me with a smart aleck grin that implied he already knew.

"The water!" I yelled at him, jabbing a finger at the southerner. "You took it! You must have."

Sawyer put a hand on his chest in mock pain. "You think because something goes missing in this camp that I have something to do with it?"

"Yeah, I do." I answered him shortly. "Now give it back."

Sawyer tossed his cigarette butt away, he no longer looked amused. "Look broomstick, I didn't take your dang water! Why are you so . . .?" His line of thought trailed away as realization died in his eyes. "Of course! Now that sweet Claire's toppled like a tree you think its your personally duty to get her back on her feet. Real sweet of you, I commend your efforts." I was growing more furious with the delay and with this man. "Don't jerk me around, Sawyer," I snapped at him.

"Why don't you screw off?" was his only response. I felt my fingers curling into fists. The logical part of my brain knew that there was no way I could beat Sawyer in a fight. The emotional part of my brain that kept flashing back to a comatose Claire didn't care. I was going to beat this man until he gave the water back.

"What is going on here?" An Arabic voice interrupted me from my train of thought. Sayid came over with quick strides, not fast enough for him to be angry, but quick enough for interest.

"Well, howdy, Sheriff!" Sawyer greeted him with a mock salute. "String-bean here was just leaving."

"Sayid, he . . ." I began.

"Not another word," Sayid told me, grabbing my arm. "You can explain later."

Sawyer waved good bye as Sayid dragged me back to the beach. "What is going on?" he asked without preamble.

"All the water's missing," I explained. "Claire passed out from a heatstroke and we have no water to treat her with. We had fifteen bottles this morning. Now we have none. If something goes missing, who else would have taken it?" I gestured at the southerner, who maintained his seat on the plane chair with his book.

"We don't know it was Sawyer," Sayid reasoned. "There could be other explanations. But we will take him into consideration. Are you sure it was the last of the camp's water supply?"

I nodded. "That's the last of it."

Sayid sighed and paused for a moment. "Let's consult with Jack, Locke and Kate. Then we may have an idea of what to do."

I clenched my teeth but nodded again. His reasoning was logical. Maybe Mr. Locke could concoct a scheme to fix the problem.

Kate was still in front of the Medical tent when Sayid and I arrived. Locke was with her as we approached. She glanced at us as we arrived, nodding to acknowledge us. "I was just filling John in on the situation."

He nodded at us. "Hello."

"Where's Jack?" I asked her, it didn't feel right, meeting without our impromptu leader.

"I don't know. Nobody's seen him since he ran off into the jungle this morning."  
That's when a thought struck me. _She told me like I__'__m some kind of equal to them, like a leader. They trust me. My opinion matters._

I wasn't sure what to think of this newfound revelation, but fortunately Sayid didn't leave me much time to think. "Alec told me about keeping all the water in one place. That was foolish." He sounded more irritated than anything.

"I could go off into the jungle to find some fresh water?" Kate volunteered.

"You're not going into the jungle alone," Sayid answered shaking her head.

Locke decided to step in. "When the others find out that the water's gone, it's going to get ugly. And then that someone pinched it?" He paused. "It's going to get even uglier."

"The last thing we need right now is anarchy," I added. "This needs to stay under wraps until we have a solution."

"Agreed," Sayid added. Kate and Locke nodded.

"But who's going to go looking for water?" I asked after a length.

There was a long pause. The only sound was the whistling of the breeze. "I'll go," Locke announced. "The camp needs you three here, especially with the doctor gone." He paused again and a little smile grew on his face. "Besides. I know where to look." He headed off into the jungle without saying another word.

The three of us looked blankly at each other. "What should we do, then?" I asked.

"We need to compile a list of suspects," Sayid began. "Obviously not everyone will have some reason for doing this. We need to keep our eyes opened. If you see anything suspicious, tell me when we reconvene in . . ." He looked at his watch. "Two hours."

Kate nodded her agreement. "I'll see what I can find," I added.


	13. Chapter 13 Sawyer Almost gets Punched

**Chapter 13**

**Sawyer Almost Gets punched in the Face**

Apparently I couldn't find anything. I always kept my eyes on Sawyer but he never gave any indication of having anything to do with the water. He just ate a fish and read some more of his magazine.

After about an hour and a half of pointless searching I decided to pay Claire a visit. I knew that I had a bowl of some sort in my makeshift tent (the new one I was building, not the group tarp). We'd all come to the mutual agreement that we needed some privacy. There was the unspoken belief we'd be here a long time, and sharing a tent had started to become a tad awkward by that point.

My tent currently consisted of a tarp tied between two trees, just at the edge of the jungle without quite going into it. I'd moved the suitcase I'd claimed as my own there earlier, adding its meager contents to my pile. It was barely worth the trouble. It held a few tacky shirts, a bolero hat, a pack of chewing gum and a plastic bowl. Those counted as my worldly processions for the time being. Not the most encouraging thought.

I ducked my head under the "roof" and dug into the suitcase. Sure enough, the bowl was still there.

_I should probably move my chess set here. Better not leave it out like that._

I'd hoped that the big tarp bucket thing we'd set up as a water cache still had a little bit left in it. My hopes in that were founded. Maybe three mouthfuls remained in the bottom. It certainly wasn't the best of the camp's water, but I doubted Claire would mind. I took all that water without remorse, leaving the tarp empty.

Turning around I spied an angry looking middle-aged man approaching. "Excuse me?" he asked gruffly. "Some of us may have wanted some of that!"

"It's not for me," I assured him, waving my hands, "it's for Claire."

That answer didn't satisfy him very much. "Yeah, right. Besides, who's Claire?" He spread his arms. "Assuming you're not lying and Claire is, in fact, a person, what gives her the right to the last of the water?"

I felt my face flush with anger. "Claire's the pregnant woman who passed out earlier this morning!" I snapped. "Listen, buddy, if you want to stop me from taking this water to a pregnant woman, fine!"

I was hoping that answer would cow him into submission but it didn't. "First of all, my name's Artz. Secondly, why should I care? I have problems, too."

I didn't want to deal with this. "You know what, Artz? You can have my portion of the lunch boar. I haven't eaten any of it. You take it. Now let me take Claire the water."

That seemed to satisfy the man, who left me after that.

_I wonder how long it'll take for him to discover that the water bottles are gone._

I took the small trip to the medical tent with the bowl held firmly in both hands. After going through all the effort to acquire this prize I had no intention of giving it up or loosing it.

Everyone ignored me as I headed for the medical tent, the small council of leaders not yet assembled. I opened the tent flap silently. If Claire was still sleeping, the last thing I wanted to do was wake her. Her eyes fluttered as my footsteps sounded in the medical tent. I was overjoyed to see her wake.

"Hey," she greeted weakly, struggling to sit.

"Hey yourself," I replied, handing her the bowl. "I brought you some water. It isn't much, but I suspected you wouldn't complain."

Claire nodded gratefully, throwing her head back and chugging the bowl's contents. "Thanks for the drink, Alec," she murmured gratefully.

"Yeah, well," I growled, standing up, "there would've been more if some punk hadn't swiped it." A pebble stared up at me blankly, almost as if the stone was judging me, blaming me for the camp's missing water. I picked up the offending stone and hurled it away. I didn't care where.

"How long was I out?"

"A couple of hours, but we let you sleep. No one wants to disturbed a sleeping woman. It's like shooting a bear with a taser. You can, but should you?"

Claire smiled weakly. Then she asked me suddenly, "Is Jack back yet?"

Once again I mentally cursed the doctor for taking off alone into the jungle. He'd left us alone, scrambling to pick up the pieces he'd left behind.

"No, he's been gone for a while. Vanished." Claire didn't seem to like that, so I knelt down next to her, placing my most reassuring smile on my face. "But I wouldn't worry too much. Mr. Locke's gone into the jungle to find him. And some water for you," I added as an afterthought. Technically the water was for everyone but I was going to make sure Claire got at least a bottleful, even if it meant I didn't have any. The way she looked, so weak and sad, tugged at my heartstrings.

"Great," Claire murmured. "So our only hunter is going to get himself eaten by the monster in the jungle just so I can wet my throat." She seemed gloomy with a touch of guilt, as if she was blaming herself for our water shortage.

"Don't worry about old Mr. Locke," I told her, honestly believing every word I spoke. "He's going to be fine. I mean, anyone who takes the time to get four hundred knives on an airplane knows how to handle himself. I mean, I usually only bother to pack a rocket launcher and maybe a hundred odd knives. But _four_ hundred?" I paused, raising an eyebrow. "That's some crazy stuff."

Claire giggled happily, and I was more than pleased to hear her do so. I stood and looked out across the beach as Claire quieted behind me. "When are they going to rescue us?" she asked. I turned to face her and saw an expression devoid of hope.

"I don't know," I answered honestly. "But I'm sure it'll be soon." I smiled at the end of it, trying to convey hope to her that I didn't have.

She looked like she didn't believe me but appreciated the attempt. "Thanks, Alec," she stated simply.

I was a wee bit surprised. "Whatever for?" I asked her.

"For caring. Most people around here," Claire paused, "don't look me in the eye. I think I scare them." I sat next to her, listening intently, when it would have been far easier to tell her she was crazy and everyone liked her. Sometimes the one thing people want most is someone to listen to. "With the baby . . . It's like I'm a time bomb of responsibility waiting to go off," she finished, looking up at me.

I decided to say the first thing that popped into my head. "I'm not scared of you."

Claire smiled. No, she beamed.

"Alec." Sayid's voice was coming from behind me. I'd completely forgotten what time it was.

"You rest, Claire," I told her gently. "Think of the baby. I'll be back soon." She nodded, leaned back, closing her eyes serenely.

Sayid and Kate were standing outside the medical tent, when I arrived.

"I didn't find any traces of the water," Kate started off grimly. "It's like all the bottles just vanished."

"I did not find any either," Sayid added. "Unless Alec had better luck?"

I shook my head sadly. "Nope. Whoever took the water did a great job at it. I haven't seen so much as a cap."

"Alright, clearly we need to bring in some fresh blood," Sayid mused, "Maybe someone else knows something we don't."

"The thing is," Kate began, glancing around, "who _can_ we trust?"

"Charlie," I said without hesitation. "He was with me when we discovered the water was gone. Furthermore, no one would suspect him."

"What about Hurley?" Kate pitched in. "He tends to know the whereabouts of most of the supplies."

As if on cue, Hurley dashed over, proving Kate's point almost instantly. "Those Chinese people have water."

"Bingo," I announced confidently.

"It certainly looks that way," Sayid replied. "Shall we find out?"

I nodded in furious agreement, but Kate put a hand on my shoulder. "Let Sayid handle this. He can do the talking."

Reluctantly, I nodded. I fell back and followed Sayid. His stride was strong, the stride of a man confident in his purpose but not aggressive.

Sure enough, the two Koreans had an empty bottle of water, the woman holding it when we arrived.

Sayid went straight to work. "Where did you get this?" He asked, pointing to the bottle. The woman said something in rapid-fire Korean, shrugging. Sayid took the bottle from her hands. "Where did you get this?" he asked again, slower, pointing at the bottle.

The woman just looked at him blankly. The only sound was the hum of activity in the background and the crushing of the surf. "WHERE . . . DID . . . YOU . . ." Sayid began again, loudly.

"She doesn't understand you." Kate told him from behind his left shoulder.

"She understands," Sayid answered flatly, casting a glance behind his shoulder. He turned to face the woman again, gesturing at her with the water bottle. "Did you steal this water?" he asked slowly. The woman began in Korean again.

"This is pointless, Sayid . . ." I began. Suddenly, the Korean man butted in front of me, standing between his wife and Sayid. His incomprehensible words were loud and angry as he railed away at Sayid.

"Hey!" Kate snapped, "take it easy. We just want to talk." The man paused as she took the water bottle, pointing at it like Sayid had done. "This had water in it. Is it yours?" He looked blankly at us, defiant. "Who gave you this?" Kate asked, changing tactics.

It was almost as if the man could understand her, pointing angrily down the beach. I saw the man he pointed at and my pulse quickened with anger. Sawyer was still sitting down in that plane chair, a new cigarette lit, puffing away.

"That lying son of a . . ." I growled, striding furiously toward him.

My angry movement was halted by Sayid's hand on my arm. "I don't see the water anywhere." he reasoned. "If we go after him now, we'll get nothing, but if we wait . . ." He paused, smiling slyly. "A rat will always lead you to its hole." With another smile he turned and departed. With one more angry look at Sawyer, I turned and followed. I'd find that water, and then Sawyer would hurt for it.

It took Sawyer a surprisingly little amount of time to trudge back into the outskirts of the jungle to get at his stash. I was surprised. I figured he'd glace around a bit before heading in, seeing if anyone was spying on him. But no. Supremely confident, he went in after thirty odd minutes. That was when we followed him.

"Alright, here's the plan," Sayid told us in a hushed voice. "Kate will get close to him, draw him into a false sense of security. Then I," he pointed at me, "along with Alec, will spring out and grab him."

"What then?" I asked.

Sayid smiled grimly. "We make him give us the water back."  
_Sounds like a plan._

Our 'friend' Sawyer suddenly stopped in front of an ordinary looking pile of leaves, sinking down to one knee in front of it. He paused to look around, glancing about the trees. Pity for him we'd already concealed ourselves pretty well.

Confident that no one was about to sniff out his prize, Sawyer pulled back the top two massive leaves on the pile, revealing a blue plane blanket underneath. Once he pulled that back, I got a glance at his little stash. It was rather impressive. I'm not ashamed to admit it. Cigarettes, batteries, magazines, shaving creams, painkillers, flashlights, alcohol . . . This man was set. It was hard to see from my position what he was bothering to acquire from his secret pile. It was small and square like a box of cigarettes, but really it was unimportant.

Sawyer was halfway through recovering his little pile of 'borrowed' goods when Kate tackled him. I don't think a full body tackle was what Sayid had in mind when he said to lure Sawyer out but it seemed to work. Sawyer's face held a confident smirk and he seemed to enjoy his predicament. I couldn't make out what he said but it sounded suspiciously like someone flirting.

_Is he seriously flirting with a woman who, in addition to having a criminal record, looks angry enough to take his head off? This guy's either real brave or real stupid._

With a twist and some jerky arm movement, Sawyer had reversed their positions, pinning Kate to the ground. This gave Sayid and myself the golden opportunity. Kate barely had time to grind the words, "Get off me," from between clenched teeth before we dragged him off of her.

Sayid shoved the redneck away before hollering. "Give us the water, now!" Pointing his finger at the American.

Sawyer shoved him back. "Touch me again . . ." He let the threat hang. "You think I stole your water!" he snapped, looking at me as he said it.

"We know you gave two bottles to the Koreans," Sayid reasoned angrily as Kate started rummaging through the stash to see if she could find anything.

"I don't give nothing to nobody," he snarled, pointing at himself just in case we, in a moment of madness forgot his identity.

"It's not here," Kate announced. I was steamed.

"I traded Mr. Myogi the last of my water for a fish he caught," Sawyer explained. "Worked it out caveman style."

"You could've just told me that earlier," I snapped at him. Another memory of Claire in her weakened state drifted back into my mind and I didn't feel an ounce of empathy for this man.

"Now where would be the fun in that, String-Bean? You're far too easy to get worked up."

"You gave him your last two bottles?" Kate asked in a sarcastic manner, ignoring our exchange.

"Water has no value, Freckles," he answered as if she were stupid. "It's going to rain sooner or later. Besides, I'm an optimist!"

Sayid stared daggers at Sawyer and I'm sure my expression was similar as we left the man to go back to his stash.

"What a waste of time," Sayid complained as we trudged down the beach.

"Well, look at it this way," I stated, trying to find the silver lining in the cloud of disappointment (disappointment mostly because I wouldn't get to land my fist into Sawyer's irritating grin), "at least Sawyer didn't do it." I looked over at the forty odd people gathering in their little makeshift tents. "Though if not him I have no idea who would."

Sayid pinched the bridge of his nose. "Well, we need to keep looking. Until Locke comes back with the water we'll need to find our reserve. Keep your eyes peeled, we'll find this culprit."

I nodded my assent, though it left a bitter taste in my mouth. The thought of leaving whoever was responsible for our water shortage unpunished wasn't one I would let sit in my head.


	14. Chapter 14 I Enter the Jungle

**Chapter 14**

"**I Enter the Jungle"**

I wasn't sure what to do or how to do it but I staked out the medical tent all day. I was sure that whoever had pinched the water would feel guilty about it and try to slip Claire some without being noticed. I stayed outside that tent for hours while Claire slept and the sun sank low in the sky. Soon it was dark and I was still there. Signal fires burned in the night.

_Maybe nobody's coming and I'm sitting here in vain._

That's when I heard the rustling. I strained my ear in an attempt to pick it up, to discern who was making it and where they were coming from. The darkness closed in around me, illuminated only in areas by the roaring bonfires, sending smoke clouds up to the heavens.

That's when I heard him enter the medical tent. He was giving a magnificent effort at stealth, but in his haste to avoid detection he kicked over one of the coolers sitting in the tent. I crept closer towards medical shelter, peering in to get a glance of our water thief. He was crouched down before Claire's sleeping, blanket-wrapped form, holding up a full bottle of water to her lips. I was able to pick up the forms of two other bottles as well.

My blood boiled at the sight of this man, so near to Claire after what he had done to put her in this position. Claire stirred as our mysterious thief poured some more water down her throat.

I waited until he pulled back to let her breathe to make my move. Dashing forward I grabbed the thief by the arm, twisting him around to face me. I found myself to be looking nose to nose with Boone.

"Where'd that come from?" I asked in an angry hiss, looking at the water. Boone didn't answer. "Why'd you take it?" I yelled at him, loud enough to draw the attention of the survivors from the nearest bonfire. When Boone didn't answer I grabbed him by the shirt and, with strength I didn't know I possessed, hurled him out of the medical shelter and onto the sand.

"Found our thief!" I hollered for everyone to hear, standing before my target's prone form.

"Where'd he hide it?" Michael asked jogging up, not looking too pleased.

"I don't know," I told him.

"How many bottles does he have on him?" Charlie asked, arriving with the speed of a hunting dog finally sighting its quarry.

"At least three!" I snapped as Boone rose. I shoved him in the chest.

"Why'd ya do it, pretty boy?" Charlie asked angrily.

"It was just sitting in the tent!" Boone snapped at us, gesturing at the medical structure. "Someone could've stolen it and taken off."

"Claire could've died!" I roared in his face. That was all that mattered to me at the moment. To think of that woman dying of dehydration . . .

"I would've given her some sooner, but things got out of hand. No one would've understood!" he yelled back as if that pathetic excuse would have redeemed him in my eyes.

"What's going on?" Kate started yelling, throwing her voice into the mix.

"Someone had to take responsibility for it!" Boone answered.

I lost it. "Claire could've died!" I yelled again, lunging at him. "You could've killed her!" Sayid and Charlie grabbed my arms, pushing me back, holding me away. "Let me take him!" I yelled at them, straining to get my hands on this guy.

"Leave him alone!" A powerful and familiar voice echoed across the camp. Everyone stopped and a silence descended over the camp. Striding out of the jungle was none other than Jack, our missing doctor. He looked at us in silence for a moment and we back at him. The only sound was the crackling of the fires and my own labored breathing.

"It's been six days," Jack began calmly, "And we're all still waiting, waiting for someone to come." He glanced around, making sure he had everyone's attention. "But what if they don't? We have to stop waiting. We need to start figuring things out." He pointed his finger at the ocean. "A woman died this morning, just going for a swim! And he tried to save her and now you're about to crucify him?" I looked down at my feet, feeling a tad ashamed, though not nearly enough to balance out the anger I still felt.

"We can't do this," Jack continued passionately. "Every-man-for-himself is not going to work. It's time to start organizing. We need to figure out how we're going to survive here." He paused before making his announcement. "I've found water, fresh water, up in the valley. I'll take a group at first light. If you don't want to come, find another way to contribute!" He looked at Sawyer while delivering that last part. "Last week most of us were strangers, but we're all here now, and who knows how long we're going to be here! But if we can't live together . . . We're going to die alone." There was silence. Everyone looked at Jack, expecting something more, something more that never came. Jack left, almost embarrassed by the spotlight.

We dispersed as Boone went to bring the suitcase of water back. Locke arrived with even more water he'd found in the jungle. We had enough for everyone to have half a glass. Hurley took change of the distribution of the water and Boone just took off. I didn't care where he went, despite what Jack said I didn't want to see him right now.

I brought my two cups forward, one for me and one for Claire. Hurley filled them up without comment. "That was pretty hardcore, dude," he told me as I took my cups from him. I nodded and headed towards Claire with her glass and mine, the clear, clean water sparkling appetizingly. I suddenly realized how little I'd drunk myself and looked forward to my own glass.

Claire was still sitting in her seat, another of the plane's blankets wrapped around her. "Water delivery," I announced, handing her one of the glasses. She took it, smiling at me. "I was feeling rather thirsty." She took a long sip as I sat beside her. "How'd you guys find that water?"

I felt almost embarrassed now by my part. I didn't want this gentle and beautiful woman to think me capable of senseless brutality. "It's a long story. I'll fill you in later." I took a long swig from my cup, the cool water splashing down my throat most pleasantly. It was the finest water I'd ever tasted.

Claire nodded. "I suppose you're right, it is rather late to be telling long stories." She leaned back, looking at the sky. The stars twinkled above us. "It's beautiful, isn't it?"

"Yes, yes it is." As clichéd as it was, I said this looking at her and not the night sky. Her eyes twinkled like miniature stars themselves. "We don't get clear nights like this back home in Kitchener."

"I love the stars," Claire told me absently, "they each have a purpose, a constellation or something. They're always there. No matter what happens, they're always there. It's reassuring."

After how close I came to loosing her that morning I couldn't deny her statement. We sat in silence sipping our water and watching the stars twinkle above us. The world seemed to me like a very good place at that moment; I wish I could've stayed there forever.

Sadly, all good moments come to an end, and Claire, being pregnant and all, was forced to retire. Seeing as she'd gone to bed I figured I might as well do the same. I trudged the short distance to my tent, feeling pleased with myself and in general happy. I wasn't really paying attention to my surroundings so I was rather surprised to see Charlie sitting outside my tent.

"Hey, mate," he greeted me.

"Hey," I answered him, mildly surprised to see him there. He scribbled away with his marker a bit before he finally spoke again.

"So, you really were going after Boone, huh?"

I decided to be brutally honest. "I would've beaten him to death with my own two hands if you and Sayid hadn't stopped me."

Charlie looked right at me, almost as if he was gazing at my soul. "I believe you." He chuckled a bit. "It's funny, because if someone told me you were going to get into a fight with Boone I'd guess you'd get beaten down. He's a lot stronger and heavier than you." He paused, tossing me the marker. "But when I saw you tonight, heh, I'd have had no doubts about the victory." He glanced in the direction of Claire's tent. "Looks like our pregnant girl's got herself a protector. I'd hate to be the fool trying to hurt her

"I'd die to protect her," I told him.

Charlie looked at me with a bemused expression. "That's a confident statement. I mean, it's easy to say things now, but when the crunch came, would you really?" He paused, letting me use the marker myself. The word 'Race' appeared on them but I wasn't really paying attention to the marker and the masking tape. "I knew a girl once. Her name was Lucy." Charlie smiled a bit, gazing off into the darkness. "I even took a job as a copier salesman to impress her . . ." His voice trailed off sadly.

"What happened to her?" I asked cautiously, seeing a sad side of Charlie Pace.

"Nothing," he replied instantly, a blank, emotionless mask concealing his true thoughts. "Things didn't work out. Can I have my marker back?"

I tossed it to Charlie, who caught it one handed. "Anyways, G'night. See ya tomorrow." Charlie pulled the hood on his jacket up and went off, whistling "You all Everybody" as he disappeared into the night.

I stood looking after him, thinking about our conversation. It was hard to wrap my head around it.

_Would you really? _The words echoed in my mind as I drifted off to sleep.

* * *

The sunlight came through my tent flap the next morning, the brilliant light waking me from my slumber. I yawned mightily, stretching up to the top of my makeshift tent. Wincing, I realized that the wound on my side caused by the boar's tusk was still tender. I grit my teeth against the pain and stepped out into the brilliant morning sun.

"Morning, dude," Hurley called out as he trudged along the beach, carrying his bag.

"Morning yourself," I replied groggily. "Got any breakfast?"

"Sorry, man," Hurley answered, "we're out of boar until Mr. Locke gets some more. Said he'd do it tomorrow. They're going after the water today. You should go."

_Me? In the jungle? Crazy talk. That place would kill me!_

"I'm sure they don't need me," I answered, less than confidently.

"Dunno, dude, Locke said an extra hand might be worthwhile. It is a lotta water." Hurley stopped. "Anyways, got a tent to build. See you later!"

I waved at the big man as he trudged down the beach. I figured I might as well head down to the main gathering point. See if there was anything I could do to get out of the jungle hike.

I was starting to pack up the chess pieces, readying them for the trip back when Locke approached me. He held an empty backpack in one hand.

"Hello, Alec. Busy?"

I knew what he was getting at, so I decided to try and lie my way out of it. "Yep. Sorry, Mr. Locke, I'm really busy! Can't do anything right now!"

Locke smiled. Then without warning he tossed the backpack at me. It hit me hard enough that I realized that it was stuffed with empty water bottles. "Too bad. You're coming with us." He said those words in a kindly voice, but I could tell he wasn't going to take no for an answer.

Well to heck with it, I was going to try. "No, Locke, I can't come."

His smile vanished. "Alec, you need to stop making excuses. If you're going to become the man we need on this island you need to conquer the self doubt that's eating you alive. The first step to doing that is conquering your fear of the jungle. So,"—He nodded pointedly at the backpack—"you're coming on the hike."

I looked at the backpack and then back up at Locke. "This isn't going to be fun," I grumbled, slipping the back over my shoulders and standing before I could regain my senses.

"No, it won't be," Locke told me, smiling sadly, "but it'll be good for you." He clapped me on the shoulder. "Now come along. Charlie, Kate and Jack should be ready by now."

I followed the man down the beach line, forcing almost every step out of my legs. This was hard enough and I wasn't even off the beach. The jungle looked out at me like a fearsome beast, waiting to devour me.

Locke was no doubt impatient for the others. He took out a small knife and mirror and shaved himself was we stood waiting. Jack came by us first, Kate lagging behind long enough to comment to Charlie, "Ask Jack about his tattoos." She was laughing.

"Oh, you have an inside joke," Charlie responded sarcastically. "How absolutely wonderful for you both." Locke put his shaving gear away and led us off into the jungle. I fell back so I could walk with Charlie.

"What was that about?" I asked him, one eyebrow raised.

"Nothing really," Charlie grumbled, "just those two flirting. We should call them Jate now."

I laughed. "I doubt Jack would approve. He's too busy trying to save everyone." We took a few steps and soon we had broken the tree line. Jack was leading us along, Kate and Locke before me and Charlie beside me. I was already sweating buckets and it wasn't from the heat. I glanced around at the trees towering over us, expecting something nasty to start eating us at any moment.

"You alright, mate?" Charlie asked me. "You don't look too good."  
"It's the jungle," I answered, "I hate it."

"Locke convince you to come?" he inquired. I nodded. "Aw, the jungle's not so bad. Except for the monster that eats people! Yeah, that's nasty." He started laughing.

"Not funny, Charlie," I grumbled, plodding along.

"How'd you find this place?" Kate asked Jack from ahead of me.

"Luck," he answered, looking back at us. I ducked under an overhanging log and hopped over a root in silence as we went on. The jungle expanded endlessly outwards around us. The sounds of birds and insects filled the air yet aside from my companions there was no sign of life. Jack led us on a few more miles in. My palms were shaking and my shirt soaked through. So far, nothing had come after us. It was a start, at least.

"This is it," Jack announced suddenly. I glanced around, finally realizing that we'd wandered into a cave. The way we'd come in was open of course, but the jungle grew right up into it, to the point where it was difficult to tell where the jungle ended and the cave began. It was cool in the cave. The sunshine kept down low, with a waterfall-like spring and small stream running through it. From the top of the cavern thick vines hung down, decorating the space.

"Wow," I breathed, "it's incredible."

"Absolutely," Charlie chimed in, moving over towards a pile of wreckage. Plane wreckage, I noticed.

"Some of the plane landed here? What are the odds?" I asked to nobody in particular.

"Higher than you'd expect," Locke told me. "The way our plane came apart, bits of it will be all over the island."

"Shouldn't we search this stuff? There could be something useful in there?"

"He's got a point." Locke marched over to the wreckage past a bewildered Charlie.

"I do?"

"Yeah," Jack agreed. "Bring me your bottles. Keep an eye out for any medical supplies, drugs in particular."

"Drugs," Charlie said blankly. "Right." Then he turned towards the pile.

I tossed Jack my backpack and began to go through the stuff. "You all right, man?" I asked Charlie.

He smiled at me, his forehead sweaty. "Of course I am. Why wouldn't I be?"

"When he mentioned drugs you got all pale." I stated, since it was true. "So I'm asking, are you feeling okay?"

"Yeah . . ." he said at length. "Listen I gotta go outside for a moment, use the loo. Cover for me will ya?"

Despite the feeling I got that my friend was keeping something from me, I nodded. "Sure, Charlie, go for it."

"Thanks, mate," he murmured, taking off at a quick-step. When a man's gotta go, he has to go.

I poked my head back into the small pile plane parts. I was pleased to see a small stack of suitcases. Hopefully mine would be among them.

I'd opened two of them, neither of which belonged to me, when Jack asked the question, "Where's Locke and Charlie?"

I looked back out of the pile. Jack was standing in the centre of the cave with Kate. Locke was missing.

"Charlie said he had to go answer the call of nature, Locke must've followed him," I answered. "Why'd he do that?"

"I don't know," Jack replied, "but we're going to find out."


	15. Chapter 15 Not the Bees!

**Chapter 15**

"**Not the Bees!"**

Jack looked at us defiantly after that proclamation. After his grandiose statement he turned and exited the cave, Kate and I on his tail.

It didn't prove difficult to find Locke and Charlie. After all, they were the only other two people near this cave entrance, besides they'd only gone about two feet away from the cave's mouth. Charlie was standing very still and Locke was away from him.

"What's going on?" Jack asked our bald guide hurriedly. Locke raised a hand back in warning for us to stand still.

"He's standing on a beehive," Locke stated in a very calm tone. Charlie looked at his feet with barley contained horror as the telltale buzzing of the little insects filled the air. A few buzzed out, irritated by our disturbance.

"What's a beehive doing there?" Charlie inquired nervously. "Beehives are supposed to be in trees!" His tone was as low as Locke's, but fast, almost jumpy.

"What now?" Jack asked taking a step closer. I followed suit, looking at the hive. Really, it looked like a giant anthill; it had the same shade and texture. Except that bees came buzzing out at regular intervals.

"He can't move or he'll split the hive," Locke answered, his tone still quite and calm, no doubt to avoid angering the bees.

"I don't like bees, okay?" Charlie babbled. "I have an irrational fear of bees. I think I'm allergic!" His dialogue got louder and louder.

"Please be quiet," Locke stated, not raising his voice in the slightest. I kept my mouth shut as tightly as possible. To tell you the truth, I'd never liked bees much either, probably because my Grandmother once put onion on a beesting because she'd heard that it removed the stinging. It had the opposite effect. Ever since then, I've hated bee stings. Splitting the hive was not something on my list of priorities.

"We need to get something to seal the hive," Locke ordered, his tone unchanging.

"You mean cover it?" Kate asked.

"Yeah, hurry." This came out slightly more urgently, something I'm sure didn't help Charlie's panic in the slightest. I could only imagine what kind of horror was going through my friends mind at the moment.

We raced back to the cave, leaving Locke to stay with Charlie. The only logical place to find something to cover the hive was going to be in the pile of wreckage and we all knew it. Without a word we went at the pile.

"What should we use?" Kate asked, scrambling around the wreckage.

"A suitcase," I suggested. "It's sturdy, thick and should cover the hole nicely."

"Like this one," Jack agreed, pulling an aquatic colored suitcase from the pile. I nodded once, looking at it.

"That should do it."

Without any further conversation we sprinted back to where Charlie and Locke were. Charlie looked worse than we left his skin pale as more and more bees came buzzing out of the hive. I spotted a few of the yellow and black insects crawling all over him.

"Keep still, man," Jack ordered as he slowly approached, suitcase in hand. "I'm going to try and cover the hive." Kneeling low, Jack brought the suitcase forward, holding it steady in both hands.

"It's the most crap idea ever. It's never gonna work!" Charlie implored, starting to panic now as more bees decided to land all over his face, arms and neck.

"Pull yourself together, son," Locke implored in his calm collected tone.

"It wouldn't be an irrational fear of bees if I could just pull myself together, now would it?" Charlie snapped.

Jack inched even closer, the blue suitcase contrasting brilliantly with the tan colored beehive. We looked on in anticipation, waiting for him to cover the hive. Bees swarmed in a cloud now around Charlie's head, a few landing on Jack. The tension was so thick you could cut it with the axe we'd pulled out of the plane wreck.

The Charlie split the hive.

He didn't mean too, it was reflex. Once of the bees crawling on his face decided it wanted to try its hand, metaphorically speaking, at the big pink blob and stung Charlie on his left cheek. Charlie reacted like anyone under those circumstances, smacking his hand up to crush the offending insect. As he did so he stepped backward, his foot punching through the brittle material that composed the hive.

At once the angry swarm came buzzing out from the ruins of their home, angry and looking to extract vengeance on someone. We seemed fine.

"Run!" I hollered, a bit unnecessarily, taking off into the jungle. I heard Charlie behind me screaming in pain and terror as parts of the swarm took to stinging him repeatedly.

I heard a cloud of them buzzing behind me, intent on stinging me. I rushed blindly into the jungle trying to lose the swarm. Already a few of the faster ones were on me, stinging away. Sharp pinpricks of pain erupted over my neck and arms as the bees left their mark, despite my wildly swinging arms.

I was so intent on avoiding the bees that I missed the root in front of me, tripping over it. Next thing I knew I was rolling head over heels down a sharp little ravine. I landed face first onto the mud with a thump, my face stinging. I lay there, a still as I possibly could, hoping the buzzing would go away. After an undetermined amount of time the buzzing faded away into the distance as the swarm moved on to new targets. I shakily rose to my feet, my body smarting from the bee stings. The swarm may be gone, but the rapidly swelling welts served as a reminder that they'd been there. A particularly devious insect had decided to plant his stinger in the centre of my broken nose. The skin there was healing quickly, but the extra pain wasn't pleasant. The wound in my side had pulled itself together again. At least I hadn't torn the stitches.

I glanced around me looking for anyone. Suddenly I realized that I was alone in the jungle. That sunk in quick. I wouldn't use the word 'panic' to describe my emotions at that precise moment. Bowel-clenching terror would be more accurate.

"Hello?" I called out cautiously. So far nothing had eaten me. That was good. "Hello?" I called again, a bit louder. Still nothing. "HEY!" I roared, my panic stricken lungs expelling the word across the jungle. "I'm over here!"  
"There you are," a familiar voice answered. I spun around to see Locke standing on top of my small ledge; it was maybe three feet tall. I could also see the imprint I'd left in the dirt where I'd landed.

"Where's Charlie?" I asked Locke, his mere prescence reassuring my panic-stricken mind.

"Present," Charlie commented, rubbing his face. "Although, I'm ten pounds heavier now, thanks to those stings." He shuddered deeply. I guess I wasn't the only one having a bad day.

"We should head back to the cave," Locke suggested, cocking a thumb in its general direction. "I saw Jack and Kate running in that direction. Besides, the swarm headed the opposite way."  
"Well, I want to get away from the bees at any rate." I felt the crushed remains of what had to be at least a dozen bees on my stomach. "Its going to take some work to get the bee guts off me."

Locke chuckled. His face seemed remarkably clean of stings; Charlie, however, was another matter. "Want a hand up?" Locke asked, holding an arm out.

I grabbed the offered arm gratefully, pushing off of the ledge as Locke hauled me up. "Well, that went well," I offered. Charlie snorted but Locke smiled.

"Come on, let's see how many stings the doctor has."  
The short trudge back to the caves was thankfully low on bees. I didn't want to see any ever again.

_It could be worse. I could be Charlie._

The caves were still quiet and damp when we arrived, no obvious signs of bees. What _was_ obvious was Kate and Jack standing in front of a small shelf in the rock, without shirts on.

"Hello!" Locke greeted, causing the two to spin away from the ledge in surprise. "Everyone alright?"

Jack nodded, while I took the opportunity to check Kate out. She probably noticed but I didn't care too much.

"A few stings aside," Jack answered reaching for his shirt.

"You ran away fantastically," Charlie said, irritated, as he strode forward. "I'm glad my diversion spared you. I was only stung several hundred times." His voice was heavy with sarcasm as he pointed out the most magnificent of these stings.

"Can't win 'em all, Charlie," I reminded him, trying to ignore the painful stings covering my own body.

"Yeah, well." Charlie didn't really have an answer, so he just proceeded to hand Kate her shirt. "Someone left this." It obviously wasn't Jack, who'd taken the opportunity to get his back on.

"It was full of bees," Kate explained lamely, somewhat pleased to have more than a bra safeguarding her modesty.

Charlie couldn't seem to let that one go without making a comment. "I'd have though C's, actually," a grin erupting across his face. That's what I was thinking too, but seeing the ice cold look Kate shot him I wasn't likely to verbalize it. "Sorry," he muttered after about two seconds of the cold stare.

As Kate slipped her shirt back on Charlie made a discovery. "Bloody hell," he commented, walking over to one of the ledges. "These the people that came before us?"

"What are you talking about?" I asked, stepping towards the ledge. Locke came forward as well, curiosity evident in his eyes.

"Just . . . there could have been people here before us, right?" Charlie replied as I gazed down at the corpse. It was male and mummified. Scraps of clothing, ancient and tunic like covered it, starting to decompose. Its arms were crossed in a manner that implied it was laid to rest.

"Clearly," Locke agreed his tone mercifully devoid of sarcasm. "Who were these men?" He inquired, walking over towards Jack, the doctor observing another of the mummified bodies.

"Actually, this one's female," Jack observed, stepping back to let Locke take a look.

"How old do you think this guy is, Charlie?" I asked, touching the cloth tenderly. It started to disintegrate at my touch.

"Old." It wasn't helpful.

"At least sixty odd years," Kate put in. "Jack said that's how long it takes for clothing to disintegrate."

Locke nodded. "Our very own Adam and Eve," he proclaimed hypothetically.

"Yeah, well," Jack stated, "we can explore later. Right now there are people back at the beach wanting something to drink."

Locke nodded. "Business before pleasure."

"What about this stuff?" I asked, pointing a thumb over my shoulder at the plane supplies. "There could be something useful in there. It'd be a shame not to look through it."

"Good idea," Charlie agreed. "I'll do it." He moved towards the pile as he said that. Me? I headed over towards Jack and Locke, next to the stream, and filled the first of several water bottles that would go into my backpack. As I deposited that first bottle I realized just how heavy that backpack was going to be.

"Someone should stay and help Charlie," Locke pointed out, standing long enough to take a long draft from his water bottle. That didn't seem like a bad idea so I followed suit.

"You volunteering?" Kate asked, looking up from the bottle she was filling.

"Sure, I guess. It'll give me that chance to get to know him a little better."

Kate buckled her backpack as I placed another bottle in mine. Jack dumped four more in there and between the two of us we had the pack filled.

"We should head out," Kate stated moving towards the cave entrance.

"I'm going with them," I told Locke, pointing towards the entrance. I didn't want to stay in the jungle longer than I had too.

Locke nodded, understanding in his eyes. "That's okay. You did well today, Alec."

For some odd reason, the fact that Locke, almost a stranger, was proud of me, caused my own pride to expand. He thought I'd done a good job! Man. I was on fire!

"People are going to get thirsty, so now that you're done chatting, we can move."

Jack just sat down, shaking his head. "What?" Kate inquired of him.

"Forty-six people need to drink half a gallon a day each." I may have barely passed math (with a 56 percent, if anyone cares) but I could tell that was a lot of water. It was going to be heavy. The prospect of trekking up here every day didn't appeal to me. Especially with a pack full of water.

"Carrying all this water back and forth is going to be a real pain in the rear." Jack summarized my thoughts perfectly.

"You're starting to make me regret volunteering," Kate said with a smirk.

"I know I am," I muttered under my breath. Kate heard me and chuckled.

"These caves make too good a shelter just to be used for burial," Jack mused. I could already see where he was going and I wasn't sure I liked it. "Adam and Eve, they must've lived here. Their plane crashed, or maybe they were shipwrecked." He paused. Glancing around the lofty cavern by reflex I did the same. "They must've found this place and knew they could survive here. Unlimited supply of fresh water, tree canopy keeps the temperature down, shields out the sun. The openings are narrow, easy for protection against predators."

"You want to live here?" I stated, cutting to the core of it.

"Exactly," Jack answered, standing up and slinging his backpack on. "We need to bring the people to the water and not the other way around."

"Assuming we do this," I began, making little hand motions. "We'll move the dead guys, right? Because I don't want that,"—I gestured at one of the mummified remains—"next to me when I wake up."

Jack actually cracked a smile. "Yes, Alec, we'll bury Adam and Eve." He began moving towards the cave entrance. "When we set up in here."

His logic made sense to me. I'd gotten the sinking suspicion we weren't going to get rescued anytime soon. That and the fact we were thousands of miles of course helped.

We trudge out of the cave without ceremony, leaving Locke and Charlie to tend to the wreck. Kate had a look on her face that implied she wasn't too happy with the circumstance.

_Probably isn't too keen on moving to the caves._

We marched on in silence, me looking over my shoulder for a monster and not seeing one the whole time. By and by our trio came to a large, fat tree.

"We'll take a break here," Jack ordered. Kate seemed happy to sling her backpack off. I let mine fall, groaning pleasantly as the weight fell away, giving my aching shoulders a rest. Kate leaned forward to tie her shoe, providing me with an excellent view of her posterior. Jack seemed pleased with it himself.

"You checking me out?" she enquired of the doctor. I chuckled a bit at her bluntness, partly because I knew I was. Jack looked at me like he didn't appreciate the humor in the circumstances.

"What?" Jack asked, playing dumb.

"There's no harm in it, just curious."

I wasn't going to answer but I blushed a wee bit.

"If I was checking you out, you'd know it." Jack laughed, leaning against one of the trees, a goofy grin on his face.

"Then what were you thinking? Right now?" Kate pressed, looking at Jack. Personally I was glad she went after him and not me, I wouldn't have been able to keep a straight face.

"Well, I wasn't thinking that . . ."

"Don't stop to think, just tell me."

Jack chuckled a bit more. "I was thinking if we moved to the caves we could build a dam around that spring and everyone could have fresh drinking water. We could get the infirmary off the beach."

"Could we rig some showers up?" I enquired. "I don't know about you, but,"—I paused a bit, remembering my own embarrassing experiences—"saltwater doesn't do good things to my skin."

"I'm sure we could rig something," Jack agreed, seeming pleased by the idea. Kate was another story. "You think it's a bad idea?"

"No," she argued quickly, "No, it makes sense."

"But?" Jack left the question hanging.

"No buts," Kate told him, picking her backpack back up. With a small sigh I did the same, bringing the massive weight onto my back.

"Good." Jack started moving. "A lot of people still think the rescue boat's going to show up . . ."

"And we all know it won't." My statement caught Jack off guard.

"How'd you know?" he asked. "Did Kate . . . ?"

"No." I shook my head. "I worked it out. Besides, I'm something of a pessimist."

That answer seemed to satisfy him. "Well, I hope you're on my side. We're going to have a lot of convincing to do . . ."

I followed after him, Kate behind me. "You still haven't convinced me, yet."

The rest of the walk was done in silence.

* * *

**AN: Yes, My Grandmother, did in fact do that.**


	16. Chapter 16 Cave Conversations

**Chapter 16**

"**Cave Conversations"**

"My knight takes another pawn," I stated confidently, clicking my black plastic piece against Hurley's.

"Crap!" Hurley groaned, taking a pull from his bottle of water. "I should've seen that coming!"

I spread my hands simply. "Sorry man, I'm good."

We'd made good time back to camp; Sayid had met us ahead of time. Apparently the Korean man had attacked Michael for no reason. Fortunately Sayid had the situation under control. He didn't seem happy about Jack's plan to move to the caves, calling it 'suicide.' He wanted us to consolidate on the beach to alert passing planes or ships. They'd argued about it for a bit before I left and distributed my water. Claire was sleeping but I left her bottle next to her. Then I found out Hurley had some chess experience, so we'd started playing. I was winning.

Hurley's fingers rested on one of the wooden pawns, moving it a space experimentally. "So," he enquired, "What happened in the jungle?"

I moved my wooden knight again. "I got stung by bees roughly two dozen times, and we found some plane wreckage with some mummified people. Plus Jack has a plan to move to the caves. What happened here?"

"Nothing much," Hurley said casually, taking one of my pawns with his bishop. He was better than he gave himself credit for. "That Chinese dude tried to beat Michael to death. Sayid handcuffed him to a plane engine that hasn't burned away. Oh, and I carried some wood. That's it."

I nodded, moving my remaining rook into striking position. Hurley countered by moving another pawn. "So what do you think?"

"What do I think of what?" I replied, the bishop moved again.

"Moving to the caves?"

"Well . . ." what did I think about that? Hurley's queen moved, a bold move, possibly a game winning one. "I think he's right. We're going to get deep fried on this beach. Plus, I don't feel like carrying all that water everyday." I moved a pawn; realizing how dangerously low on those I was. "Besides that, the cave will keep us safe . . . Keep her safe." I added that last bit under my breath but Hurley still caught it.

"What's that, dude?"

"Nothing!" I stammered back, moving a piece. "So are you going?"

"Depends." The big man closed his hand around his lone knight, moving it to take my rook. I'd been so focused on the queen that I missed the knight coming. "Is there going to be food?"

"That's where the boar's gonna be," I stated with confidence.

"I'm there."

I laughed out loud. "That was an easy decision." I moved my own queen in response.

"Hey, man," Hurley answered, "I like them that way."

The game went on another couple of minutes. I beat Hurley at the end, but it was very close. A handshake and mutual agreement to play again sealed the deal.

I was putting my pieces reverently into the bag when Jack approached us. I knew what he was going to ask when he arrived.

"We're going." My statement put a big smile on Jack's face.

"Glad to hear it." He nodded thoughtfully.

"Just followed the food, man," Hurley pointed out. We all had a bit of a chuckle. "So . . ." Hurley began, "what's up with you and Kate? You guys gonna move into a cave together or what?" I pretended to cough to cover up my laughter at Jack's expression.

"I'm sorry, am I in high-school?" Jack asked, half-sarcasm, half-humor.

"Well, that wasn't a denial!" Hurley laughed.

Jack cocked a smile. "Just get your stuff together; we have to leave soon." He turned and walked away from us shaking his head.

"Seriously?" I asked Hurley.

"Hey, dude, I'm curious."

"Well, I've gotta pack up," I told Hurley. "See you for the Exodus!"

Hurley waved as I departed, marble board under one arm, razor bag full of chess pieces in the other.

Truth be told, I wasn't going to head straight for my tent. I had someone I wanted to see first.

"Well, well, well. Maurice Richard," a southern voice cut in. He wasn't the person I was thinking of.

"Maurice Richard?" I asked, eyebrow raised.

"He's Canadian, you're Canadian, it fits."

"He's French."

"Whatever."

I sighed. "What do you want, Sawyer?"

He put up his hands in mock pain. "Whoa there, Hos! Easy! A man just wants to ask a few questions and you verbally assault him!"

"Alright," I replied, shifting my chess board to a more comfortable stance. "What do you want to know?"

"That's better," Sawyer smirked. "Just because we're on a deserted island doesn't mean you should abandon our manners."  
I started walking away from him then. I had better things to do than verbally spar with Sawyer. "Hey, Alec! Wait!" Sawyer called after me. "I didn't mean anything by it."

"Alright," I groaned. "Just ask your dang question."

"So, where do you stand on this whole 'moving off the beach thing?"

The question surprised me. "Why do you care what I think about that?"

"Since you seem to be in the doctor's little 'command circle', I wanted to know your call. You a pessimist? Or an optimist?"

"A pessimist." There didn't seem to be any harm in telling Sawyer my cave preference. "I'm actually going to move my stuff up there now. Why?"

"I want to know what the best option is," the Yankee replied, a slight smile on his lips. "Am I going to move in with the whole gang or stay down here and snag the free stuff?"

That answer didn't surprise me in the slightest. "Well, good luck with that, I'm off to recruit more people for the caves."

"More power to yah!" Sawyer told me with a mock salute as I left him behind. Our conversation had left me more perplexed than irritated.

_The Doc's command circle? I guess its official._

The one person I was seeking happened to be easy to find. Claire sat in her plane chair, pulled up to the surf. Her journal was in her hands, and she was writing away.

"Get the water?" I asked as I approached.

Claire closed her journal and shifted to face me, as well as she could at any rate. "I did. Much appreciated."

"Well, of course, you've got a little one to think about. I'm sure he's grateful."

"He's kicking up a storm in there," she told me, looking down at her stomach lovingly. "Getting stronger every day."

"That's good, but I've come to ask you a question." Claire seemed surprised to be consulted but she nodded at me to continue. "Well you've probably heard of the caves versus the beach issue. I'm going to the caves. So, I'm wondering if you want to go to the caves with me and Hurley?" I threw Hurley's name in there in hopes it would sound less like me asking Claire to accompany me to the caves and more of a group thing.

Claire seemed to see through my disguise, nevertheless, she was too polite to mention it. "I'm staying on the beach, Alec." I started to speak but she held her hand up to silence me. "I like it here. And I want to be here, for when we get rescued. So I can get him to safety." Her gaze fell on the lump in her midriff. "But I think that it's very sweet that'd you'd ask. I appreciate the courtesy."

_Calm yourself, man. _

I coughed a bit. "Just looking out for everyone and stuff, you know?"

Claire laughed a little. "Is that why you went to get water? Even though you hate the jungle?"

I was stammering. "How'd you figure out I hate the jungle?"

"I guessed." She nodded a bit. "I think you're very brave. Going into a place you're terrified of just to help some people you barely know."

_Maybe just a few._

"I think you're brave, too." There I'd said it, out loud. To the woman I cared about above all.

"Why?" She was curious, perhaps a little nervous.

"Because you kept the baby."

My statement was simple, forward and above all difficult to say. Claire sat in silence, her eyes starting to mist up. "I was going to give him away."

"What?" I was shocked; it looked like she cared so much. Claire was crying openly now.

"That's why I was on the plane! I was going to give him to a family in Los Angeles!" She was still crying, so I put my arm around her shoulder. "A psychic told me they had to take him! He knew things about me! I couldn't raise the baby on my own!"  
I wrapped Claire in an embrace. "I don't put any stock in a two bit table magician." Claire started to say something but I kept on. "If he knew things about you he guessed, or maybe he had someone tell him. It's unimportant. And don't beat yourself up, you may have intended to give him away but you still kept him. It would've been easier to get an abortion, but you didn't. That took courage. More courage than I think I'll ever have."

Claire's crying had turned to little sobs as she buried her face in my shoulder. Gently I rocked her back and forth. "It's going to be okay. We'll be fine. Everything's going to work out. There are people here that'll help you with him. I'll help you with him." I held her tightly until it was time to head for the caves.

* * *

"So Michael just cut him free?" I asked Hurley as we went about laying out our possessions in the cave.

"Yeah, dude, it was kinda trippy." The big man shrugged. "Now they're going to live in the caves, fancy that?"

"All the same," I stated dropping my suitcase down on a patch of dirt I decided I liked best, "I'm going to keep them away from me."

"Not a bad idea," Hurley stated, pilling his suitcase next to mine. "I don't need Jackie Chan punching me in the face when I turn around."

I heard the sweet tones of a guitar singing throughout the cave. "Hey! Charlie found his guitar!" I told Hurley. I'd never heard Drive Shaft play live, figured this was the best chance I was going to get.

"Yeah, whatever, man," Hurley answered absently, sitting on his suitcase. The headphones went over his ears and Hurley descended into his own little world.

"Hey, Charlie! You found it!" I exclaimed, advancing towards the Brit. Sure enough he was leaning back on a pile of rocks before the pile of parts that had fallen off the plane.

"Even better than that!" he replied, playing a few strings. "She still works!" His face was filled with joy, like the ones my younger brothers wore at Christmas time.

"Sounds great, too!" The guitar sang sweetly throughout the caves, the music filling the emptiness. "You know, I never got to see DS in concert. Never came around my area."

"World tours aren't cheap," he said absently, playing the opening for 'You All Everybody'.

"What happened today?" I asked Charlie at length.

"Excuse me?" The guitar music faded.

"Today, When I went back with the water, you and Locke stayed behind to search the wreckage. Anything happen?"  
"Not really," Charlie nodded absently. "I found my guitar, obviously."

"Find my bag?" I asked hopefully. "It'd have about eight CDs and some books in it. A bodhran would be packed up in it as well."

"Oh. You play?"

_Wow. Charlie Pace just took an interest in my musical abilities._

"Sure," I said coolly, trying to pass myself off as a grand musician. "Hand based percussion interments are my thing." I listed my drums off on my fingers. "Bongos, Congas, that sort of thing."  
"Pity you lost it. We could play some riffs together." Charlie seemed genuinely upset at that. This only fuelled my ego even more.

"Did you find anything at all? Anything of note, I mean?"

"Interested in more of those tacky floral shirts?" Charlie asked me. "You seem to have a bit of a collection going."

"I was hoping for something I could use." I gestured at my tall, lanky frame. "I don't fit into many clothes."

"None that you could use. Did find a sleeping-bag that could fit you, though. Interested?"

You better believe I was. "I'll take it."

"Figured you'd say that, so I saved it for you." Charlie pointed at a plain grey sleeping bag. It was rolled up, though the end was singed from flames and both the bungee cords that held it had burned.

"I'm going to set up camp, turn in early. Thanks for saving the bag, Charlie."

He nodded. "That's what friends are for."

I paused, letting what he said sink in. I was friends with Charlie Pace. That wasn't something I'd ever thought would happen in my life. It was mind-boggling.

The sleeping bag unfolded nicely, proving to be roughly six feet long. A little short but I would manage. Tonight the orange flannel shirt served as my pillow, balled up to maximize its comfort ability. The earthen floor in the cave proved far more comfortable than it looked. I drifted off to the sound of Charlie Playing his guitar and Hurley humming along to his music.


	17. Chapter 17 Boar Hunting

**Chapter 17**

"**Boar Hunting"**

I was so used to the sunlight waking me up that I slept in. The caves kept the light down and I was sleeping peacefully. At least until Hurley woke me up. "Dude! Dude, it's ten in the morning!"

I bolted upright, smacking foreheads with Hurley. That knocked me right back down. My side groaned in protest but at least my nose and Hurley's skull hadn't connected.

The big man rubbed his forehead with a meaty hand. "Ouch, dude, that smarts."

"No kidding." I shook my head to clear some of the cobwebs from my brain (not that they needed shaking after being bashed like that).

"Anyways, man, I was hoping you'd want to play a game of backgammon or something," Hurley said, almost sounding embarrassed about it.

"Why?" I asked him bluntly. I didn't want to be rude to the guy, but I had just woken up.

"Well, Locke went out to get some more boar, Charlie's gone out, and I wanted something to take my mind off of the fact that we don't have anything to eat."

Well, fair enough. "Alright, Hurley, get the backgammon board. I'll get up and work myself into the mindset."

"Yes!" Hurley proclaimed, pumping his arm. While he scampered off to get it, I pulled myself out of my sleeping bag. As always, my side throbbed in the morning, but now it was accompanied by the itching of several dozen beestings. Fighting the urge to scratch wasn't easy.

_Maybe Hurley's not the only one who needs a distraction._

I rubbed my eyes, surprised at how clear my vision was becoming, even with one contact. Maybe the constant use had strengthened it. I was just grateful I could see where I was going.

Hurley came back quickly, the backgammon set clutched between both hands. I moved on of the suitcases over and set it up like a table. Taking his seat at the other end Hurley motioned at me. "Ready for this?"

Surely Hurley wasn't going to be as good at backgammon as Mr. Locke. I let a confident smile rise to my lips. "Yeah, Hurley, let's do this."

Hurley turned out to be a lot better than I thought. His last piece left the game board before I had gotten half of mine off. I did do better against him than I had against Locke. Not much, though.

"Sorry, dude, the dice were with me this time."

"Bah! Luck! Let's go again!" I countered. So we went again. And I lost. So we went again. By the fourth time I was beginning to see a pattern in the way our games unfolded, something they all had in common. I lost.

That's when Charlie decided to reappear. He headed straight for us and I got a good look at him. He looked terrible. His face was drenched in sweat, his skin unnaturally pale and his hands were shaking. Those signs were all symptoms of something I read about once, I just couldn't place it.

"Hey, mate, Locke asked for you. Says it's urgent."

"Thanks, where is he?"

Charlie pointed outside of the cave with his thumb. "You can't miss him. He's cutting up a boar for our supper. He had a trap set up, without telling me. I ran by it while being chased by a boar and the beast got caught in it."

"No problem, I'll get out there." I rose, grimacing a bit. "You okay, Charlie?"

"Sure. Never better," he replied rapidly. Beads of sweat fell off of his nose as he said this but he ignored it. If he wasn't going to point it out I wouldn't either.

As I departed the caves out into the dreaded jungle again I heard Hurley say to Charlie, "Want a go?"

A wall of heat hit me almost as soon as I exited the cavern. The caves had kept the temperature down while I was inside but the jungle was still blisteringly hot. I wiped the back of my hand across my brow, a small trail of sweat marking it. The bee stings on the back of my hand didn't approve, screaming in pain at the salt in my sweat. I ignored them as best I could.

The jungle looked slightly more hospitable than it had yesterday, not that that was saying much. Just as Charlie had stated, the hunter proved easy enough to find. A boar was hanging on a cable from a tree, quite dead. Locke had a small knife in hand. He was skinning the boar; his arms were covered with small flicks of blood.

"Hey, Locke," I greeted him, trying to ignore the sight of the bloodied hunk of meat, "Charlie said you wanted to see me?"

"Yes, Alec," Locke grunted, slashing another flab of skin off the boar's flank, "You see this boar here?"

I couldn't very well NOT see it. "Um, yes?" I ventured cautiously.

"What's the first thing you notice about it?"

I took a good long look at it. At first nothing obvious came too mind, but I longer look told a different story. "It's not very big?" I stated with relative confidence.

"Right on the money," Locke told me, rubbing his bloodied knife on his pants to clean it. "Not nearly large enough to feed forty-six people. So," he paused folding the small knife and putting it in one of his cargo pockets. "I need to get another one and I'm out of traps, so I have to hunt. I can't do that alone, so you're going to help me."

My mind raced. Going into the jungle had been bad enough but there was no way I was going on a boar hunt. I needed an excuse.

"Won't the meat on that one go bad if we tramp around the jungle looking for more?"  
Locke shook his head. "It'll stay for a couple of hours, plenty of time."

"I, uh, don't have a blade." That was a lame excuse and we both knew it.

"That's why I brought you one." Locke smiled, pulling something from his backpack. "Wouldn't do to send you in unarmed." He tossed it to me unexpectedly, taking all my resources to catch it. The object was a large knife, covered in a leather sheath like Locke's own. Drawing the blade from its sheath revealed it to be twelve inches, point to handle, and very balanced. It gleamed in the light, almost hungering for something to be stabbed into.

"You find that the sheath there has a loop that fits nicely onto your belt," Locke said, pointing at said loop. I unbuckled my belt, sliding the loop over it to the right side, so my left, and dominant, hand could get at it easily. It felt comfortable there, as if it had always sat at my side.

"How's it feel?" Locke asked, looking at the blade sitting at my waist.

I wasn't going to lie. "Good. Very good."  
"Perfect, a little confidence boost." Locke turned. "Now let's find a boar."

Reluctantly I followed Locke into the jungle, glancing over my shoulder, my hand itching for the knife. What's worse was that not only were we going deeper into the jungle, we were looking for trouble I didn't want to find.

* * *

The old man knelt next to a patch of mud, his hand moving over the form expertly. It was as if he was reading something that I couldn't see. His own knife was held casually but readily, leading me to expect trouble.

"What is it?" I asked, my hand wrapped around the pommel at my waist, already expecting the answer.

I wasn't disappointed. "Boar. This track's fresh, maybe—" Locke pointed his knife at the imprint absently, "—three hours old. We're close."

"So, what do we do if we find a boar? I've never been hunting before . . . not with a knife anyway."

I'd tried to keep the nervousness from entering my tone but I guess I failed. "It's alright to be sacred," Locke mentioned casually. "This is something you have to do if you're going to grow. I know that if you do this, maybe the island will give you something in return."

Talking about the island as if it were a person seemed odd too me. My lips parted as if too speak my mind, but Locke cut me off. "To answer your question, your part is easy. You simply get the boar to chase you. I'll leap out as you go by, stab him in the flank. Between the two of us, we'll bring him down with our blades."

My mind didn't like that part about me being chased by a two hundred pound beast with razor-sharp tusks.

"What if it catches me? I've already got one bad side, I don't want another."

Anyone else I'd met before would've tired of my endless questions by now. Granted, no one else I'd met before the island would drag me along on a boar hunt armed only with a knife.

"It won't catch you. Adrenaline is a wonderful thing. Besides we'll only hunt a piglet, no more than one-fifty. You'll be fine."

I nodded, far from reassured. My hand was wrapped tightly around the knife's handle, my knuckles whitening from the tightened grip.

Locke rose from his crouch, trailing his hand on a tree- trunk. "The boar went this way. Come on." He gestured forward with his head and advanced.

I followed him, because, despite the terrifying prospect of finding a boar and attacking it, staying alone in the jungle with no way of finding the caves again seemed worse.

"How big do you think it is?" I asked Locke as we followed the boar's trail. In hindsight it wasn't that difficult to find. The boar left a trail of stomped grass and broken plants in its wake. I'd had very little experience tracking and even I could follow it. Judging by some of the slash marks on the trees we passed, this boar had larger tusks than the one that had gored me. I made a vow not to let it sink its tusks into me.

Locke looked back at me. "How big is what?"

"The boar we're hunting. How big do you think it is?"

Locke knelt by one of the tracks worn into the mud. "Judging by the size of the tracks I'd say only one-forty."

"Only one-forty?" I stated skeptically.

"That's a rough estimate," Locke told me.

"Real comforting, Locke." I replied.

He smiled at that. "My name's John. Locke's just a last name."

"John," I told him, nodding my head. "You have the same name as Master Chief!"

He chuckled a bit. "I've never been compared to him before, but yes, that is true." Locke rubbed his forehead thoughtfully as we walked along.

"Do you find the jungle so frightening anymore?" he asked me out of the blue after a few moment of silence.

I glanced around at a few of the trees, my hand maintaining its grip on the knife. "I wouldn't want to come here on my own, that's for sure."

"I'm sure after we bag this boar you'll gain even more confidence," John told me.

"You really think we can do it? Just the two of us?"

Locke smiled. "I know we can."

We walked through the jungle another couple of miles before Locke put his hand onto my chest, halting my progress. "What?" I hissed at him. Locke put a hand next to his ear.

"Listen! What do you hear?" I strained my ears against the wall of jungle noise. At first all I heard were bird calls, the wind rustling the leaves, a couple of tree frogs calling. Then I picked it up: a faint grunting and groaning sound, like a very large pig.

"It's a boar?" I stated with some uncertainty.

"That's right," Locke stood up and readjusted his backpack, "we're close."

"Close, great," I muttered. "What now?"  
"Now," Locke stated stepping off into the jungle, "you get it to chase you."

_Right, no big deal, just an angry 150 pound beast with razor sharp horns chasing after you in a blind rage intending to do you bodily harm. Sounds just like the jocks at school._

I stepped cautiously towards to sound, my heart thundering in my chest loud enough to wake the dead. The whole time I was berating myself for my stupidity. Seriously, ticking off a boar? Brilliant.

_This is something you have to do._ Locke's words echoed in my mind as I took another fearful step forward. And then another.

_This is stupid._

Yet despite my self-berating I ended up taking several more steps, my legs shuddering with fear as I advanced. I drew the knife from its scabbard, the blade's weight feeling comforting in my left hand. I pushed aside a wall of foliage with a trembling hand, slick with sweat. Sure enough, grazing on some tall shrubs was a boar. It wasn't tall but it was long and thick, like a hairy tank with tusks.

I didn't want to irritate it at all; I wanted to back away from it and hide. So how did that large rock end up in my hand? I looked down at it for a moment before the rationally part of my mind realized I was throwing the rock. I realized in a wave of bowel-clenching terror that I had thrown the rock at the boar, hard. The large beast took the rock right in the side of the head with a dull thump.

The world around us was silent, purely, utterly silent for a brief moment. Then the boar snorted. Its red eyes were blazing with hate, hate directed at me.

I glanced at it for a moment then bolted. I ran, knife in hand deep into the jungle, in the general direction of Locke. Behind me the creature thundered after me, its hooves striking the earthen ground with fury.

What Locke had said about terror and adrenaline proved accurate. My arms and legs pumped furiously as I dashed through the jungle, knife held tightly. I'd never run so fast in my life, the sound of the charging boar behind me proving an effective encouragement. The pain in my side faded, all thoughts flown from my mind but one, escape!

I hoped logs and ducked branches with ease during my reckless flight, almost as if I had a sixth sense. The trees and vines blazed past me, but despite my break-neck pace it sounded like the boar was gaining on me. A quick glance over my shoulder confirmed my fears. It was gaining on me.

Wishing very much that I hadn't looked I put on another burst of speed, ducking under a low hanging branch. Where was Locke? I must've been running for at least a minute and he was nowhere.

The knife's handle was wet with my sweat, the bee stings on my face and arms stinging from the same fluid. My lungs had started burning. I may have been a cross-country runner, but I had never run this far this fast.

Despite the burning feeling in my limbs and the fact that the stitching in my side had started to tare I was doing it! I could hear the boar get fainter behind me.

Then I tripped.

My face collided with the muddy ground, my nose displacing itself again and my stitching tearing itself loose. A dozen bee stings popped from the impact. Despite all that pain it was nothing compared to the ice cold fear that washed down my spine.

The boar came on me fast, so I rolled left. Just in time, too. The beast thundered past me, close enough that I could have grabbed its hairy leg. I scrambled to my feet, knife in hand, as the boar turned furiously, a large wave of mud being displaced with the back peddle. The beast fixed me with a glare and I knew it was going to charge again. I had two seconds to think.

As the beast charged me I did the most insane thing possible (which also happened to be the only thing possible), I waited until it was almost on top of me, then I sidestepped. As the boar went thundering by I drove my knife into its side, holding on for dear life. The twelve inch blade cut a massive gap in the boar's flank, running all the way down the diameter of its side. The blood soaked my arm, staining the blade. It took me some time to register that I had stabbed the boar. Me. With a knife.

The boar growled some more, part-anger-part-pain, and charged again. I used the same tactic as last time: I stabbed down with all my might into the boar's skull with both hands. I felt some serious resistance from the skull but the moment and the strength of my terror-filled arms proved adequate for the task. With a crunch followed by a squishing noise the boar collapsed, wrenching my knife out of my hands and spraying me with warm blood. I looked down at my hands, red with the blood and then my gaze moved down towards the boar laying dead, the knife Locke had loaned me sticking out of its skull like a ridiculous hat.

"I killed it. By myself," I said aloud, hardly able to believe it.

"Most impressive," John Locke told me from behind the nearest tree. I turned to face him, the blood dripping off my hands and face, weaponless. The man was smiling. "I told you."

"I killed it. By myself," I repeated, with more confidence.

"Just like I knew you would," Locke nodded. "Now what did you trip over?" The question was phrased as if he already knew the answer.

I turned around to look and could scarcely believe my eyes. Lying in the middle of my makeshift jungle path was a battered, but still intact grey suitcase. I knew it would be there before I glanced, the tiny Canadian flag was tattered and sticky with mud, but still it clung valiantly to the case's handle.

I advanced towards the case, hands held out, my eyes misting slightly.

_I never thought I'd see it again._

I knelt before the case, my hands finding the zipper. Cautiously I opened it, almost afraid of what I'd find. It was all there.

My t-shirts, my jeans, my CDs, my books, and my glasses, all accounted for. I was so happy to see my lost things that I almost started crying. The spare contact I popped into my eye almost instantly. My vision sharpened, though not as much as I had expected. I zipped up the bag reverently, slinging it over my shoulder tenderly, only to realize that my bloodied hands had left stains on the strap. Fortunately I hadn't gone through the contents.

I looked back at Locke, gratitude evident on my face. He just smiled, then turned towards the boar.

"I should get your knife out of the hog's head," I stated, somewhat embarrassed.

"It's yours now," Locke told me, pulling the blade loose and handing it too me, handle first.

"You mean I can keep it?" Awe filled my voice. With that knife belted to my waist I felt a million feet taller.

"Sure. You earned it. Besides, I've got plenty of knives." Locke bent down and grabbed one of the boar's hind legs. I couldn't tell what made me happier, receiving the knife or getting my stuff back. Reverently, I accepted the blade, wiping it clean on the bottom of my shirt. It tucked back into the sheath with a satisfying rustle of fabric and metal.

"Now, help an old man carry a boar back to his cave."


	18. Chapter 18 Cave In

**Chapter 18**

"**Cave-In"**

"You sure you don't need me to help with this?" I asked Locke, my bloody hands stroking my blades's pommel.

Locke's skinning knife bit into the boar's hide, expertly removing the skin. "Nope, I can handle the skinning myself." He gestured at me with his own blood-covered knife. "Besides, you need to rest and get cleaned up. You've earned it."

I looked down at my hands and felt the blood drying on my face. His statement was true enough. "Thanks for everything, John."

Locke chuckled a little behind the hunk of boar meat. "I didn't do anything. You did it yourself. Have a pleasant walk."

_I did it! I'm amazing!_

I felt light-headed with triumph as I strolled back towards the caves we'd claimed as our home. The jungle seemed far friendlier than it had two days ago, and with the knife sitting at my waist proudly, I felt like I could take care of anything that might come out. My newfound confidence was intoxicating. Fortunately I'd taken enough psychology courses to know I wasn't invincible. Mind you, all that book learning hadn't helped take down that boar.

When I arrived back at the caves, I was in for a surprise. Apparently half the complex had collapsed, trapping Jack inside. So much for rest.

"Dude, Jack's trapped in there! Help us out!" Hurley exclaimed pointing a finger at a large pile of rock. The Korean man, Michael, Boone, and a couple others were going at the pile with everything they had. Hurley finally noticed my blood-stained face and hands. "What happened to you?"  
"Long story," I replied, dropping my bag next too the rest of my stuff. "How'd this happen?"

"Long story," Hurley reposted. "If we get the chance, I'll explain it."

Boone opted out at that moment, so I jumped in.

"Go slow, man," Michael told me, motioning with his hand. "Hey, what happened to your . . . ?"  
"Long story!" I grunted, handing him one of the massive rocks. They weighed a ton, and I wasn't in the best condition: nose eschew, bleeding from my side, limbs sore from running. But if I quit, Jack could die, so quitting was off the table.

I passed another rock back to Michael, the chain moving along with excellently tuned precision. More rocks followed this one, and more with those; time seemed to race and crawl simultaneously. With single-minded focus I tugged at another rock, a big one. It was sticking in place so I gave it a little extra juice. The rock came free with a small dislodge of rubble. A hole in the pile stared back at us.

"Hey! We're though!" Michael announced happily. "We've got a hole!"  
"Jack! Can you hear me, Jack?" Hurley yelled down the hole. Silence. "Come on, dude, answer me!" He persisted stubbornly. I moved back a pace and Hurley advanced, sticking his head right up to the hole. I could have sworn I heard a faint moan of pain.

"I hear him!" Hurley exclaimed, sending a sort-of cheer throughout our little line of workers. "Are you okay, bro?"

"I'm pinned," Jack's voice drifted out of the rubble, sounding weak and trapped. "I can't move. I can't move!" He wasn't at the stage of panic but he did sound to be in pain.

"What do we do?" Hurley asked blankly. "How do we get him out?"

"Someone's going to have to go in," I answered him.

"Charlie was with me?" Jack called out, I glanced around looking for Charlie but not seeing him.

"He's okay, he made it out!" Hurley replied. I felt a little bit better; Charlie was okay.

"Listen Jack," Michael stated, "we're going to get you out of there, okay?" A weak coughing persisted.

Everyone fell back from the pile of rock to plan our next move. Michael seemed to be the impromptu leader of our little band, so he defaulted to instructions. "We can't safely make that tunnel any bigger, since Jack can't go out. One of us is going to have to go in and unpin him."  
"What, crawl though that?" Hurley asked incredulously.

"He means someone smaller," Boon muttered.

The Korean man went off of course, jabbering away.

"Dude, we don't speak Chinese," Hurley grumbled.

"Korean, man," Michael corrected. "They're Korean."

"I think I could do it," I told everyone, eyeballing the hole. "I'm thin enough to . . ." Whatever I was going to say—truth be told, even I don't remember—faded away as I sat back down. My previous boar work had left me exhausted; blood was dripping down my side from the torn stitches. A wave of light-headedness thanks to my low blood-pressure washed over me, nearly causing a fainting spell. I coughed up something that vaguely resembled blood. It was very disconcerting.

"You can't go in there, man," Michael told me, glancing at my dirt and blood caked face with worry. "You're too weak right now."

"I'll do it!" Charlie announced from the caver entrance.

We all turned to face the bass player, pulling down his hood as he arrived. "Charlie?" Hurley asked unsure as if he were someone else.

"No, look man, you're still too shook up," Michael advised waving his hand in a no gesture. "I might be able to squeeze through . . ."  
"Wait!" Charlie cut him off, dropping a hand on his shoulder. "Who's going to take care of your son if something happens?" The bluntness of the statement silenced any opposition Michael may have had. "She's got a husband, he's got a sister," Charlie pronounced, gesturing at everyone in turn. "I'm alone." He let that sentence hang for a moment before he pressed on. "Nobody on the island. Let me do this."

Michael looked down at his feet, debating mentally whether or not to allow it. "Okay, man. You do it."

Charlie didn't smile but he nodded. I rose shakily to my feet, wavering a little as I stood; Hurley put an arm on my shoulder to steady me.

"Be careful, Charlie," I advised a bit unnecessarily.

"Thanks for the concern mate," the Brit replied, toneless.

Michael handed Charlie a large flashlight and a bottle of water as we talked.

"Remember," he reminded Charlie, "go slow, try not to nudge any of the rocks around you."

Charlie nodded his dirt caked head. "Alright, anything else?"

"Yeah, good luck."

"Be safe, man," Boone advised.

"Slow and steady," I warned him, leaning heavily on Hurley's shoulder. The spots had stopped dancing before my eyes and my dizziness was fading. I was still bleeding from my side wound though, but two out of three isn't bad.

"Good luck, Charlie," Hurley wished solemnly, head bowed.

"Alright, thanks, guys." He sounded genuine, probably because heading into a possibly lethal situation. Makes a guy grateful that someone cares. He approached the pile of rubble with trepidation, cautiously flicking on his flashlight. The beam of light stabbed into the heart of the rubble pile, doing very little to illuminate it. He took one deep breath and then began his crawl.

Like a caterpillar he sort of wiggled his way into the pile, first his head, then his torso and finally his legs vanished into it. I could hear him breathing heavily all the way from where I was. Granted I had good ears, fate's balance for my bad eyes, but still, he was nervous. Nothing bad had happened so far, and he was making good progress. He was doing it! Charlie would get Jack out.

We advanced looking into the hole, Michael and Hurley beating me too it as I hobbled along. I made it just as the whole pile started collapsing.

"Charlie! Move!" Michael called out as the rubble came down.

"Charlie!" I screamed. "Charlie are you okay?" The hole in the pile filled itself again despite my yelling. Charlie was trapped down there, I couldn't tell if he was dead or alive since he didn't answer me (even if he had I doubt I would have heard him).

"Charlie!" I roared again, slamming my fist against the rocks. "Charlie! Come on, man, don't do this to us! Charlie!"

Hurley pulled me back. "Dude, you'll bring more rocks down!"

"All right everyone back to the center," Michael ordered, waving his hand, towards the cleared area. Hurley sat down dejectedly, I swayed slightly, my head still fuzzy, but I wasn't going to give up, not with two lives on the line now!

"That didn't go too well," I commented sadly.

"I say we try again," Hurley started.

"We can't just leave them," Boone agreed.

"They'll run out of air if we wait too long," I added.

"Could you all stop talking? I'm trying to think!" Michael snapped, pacing the center, hands on his hips.

"Where is he?" Kate demanded, storming into the caves. She was sweaty, her hair ragged, breathing heavily like she'd been running for miles. Judging by her current state that's what she had been doing. I knew exactly who 'he' was in an instant.

"Over there," I answered, jabbing my pointer finger in the direction of the rubble pile. A brief silence descended on our little group, Kate's rugged breathing the only sound that was heard.

"Does anyone know if he's alive?" she demanded, looking around rapidly. "Is he alive?" She roared after she was met with silence.

"We don't know!" Michael responded our impromptu leader clearly not happy about the situation either. "Charlie went into a tunnel that we dug . . . but it collapsed." The sound of his voice was grim, like the judge's gravel pounding out a sentence. It was clear from his tone that Michael held very little hope.

"Why isn't anyone digging?" Kate demanded, moving at the pile of rubble with fervor. Hurley and Michael were right on her tail and I hobbled after them.

"Form a new chain!" Michael ordered, motioning where everyone should stand, "Come on there's people under there let's do this!" I took up a fresh position at the end of the line just as the first large misshapen rock came at me. My shoulder joints felt the strain as I moved the stone to our rapidly growing collection. Would we be fast enough to save Jack and Charlie?

* * *

We kept plugging away at the pile, I don't know how long. Kate never stopped; the woman looked like she was going to work herself to death before quitting. I'd moved up in the line, taking over for Scott—I mean Steve. Couldn't keep them straight.

The Korean woman handed me a cup of water which I drank down greedily. I spilled some on my face, feeling the cool water making trails through my goatee and off my chin, no doubt taking some dried blood and dust with it. Hurley opted out and I took his place at the front next to Kate. Like I said before, she hadn't quit.

"Kate, you need to take a break," Michael ordered, coming over from the rest zone.

She wiped the sheen on sweat off of her forehead with the back of her hand but said nothing, simply grabbing another rock. "I'm fine."

Michael pushed past me, so he was right next to her. "We've got enough people to dig. If you keep going at this pace . . ." He trailed off. Kate didn't take the hint, handing me another rock instead. "You're gonna kill yourself."

Kate just looked at him, handing me back another rock. "She's not going to quit, Michael. We're just going to have to hope we get though the rocks before her heart gives out," I told him. Kate was so engrossed in her work that she didn't even notice my statement, just handed me another large stone. I passed it on without comment, just a grunt as my already battered side stretched itself further.

I passed another of the stones back, my hands rough from the constant labor. I was just about to opt out of the line when Vincent started barking loudly. Naturally, I turned my head back to see what he was barking at. I couldn't believe my eyes.

Jack and Charlie just came walking into the caves, massive smiles on there faces. "It's Jack . . . and Charlie," I said blankly, hoping I hadn't lost my mind. Everyone turned to see if it was true. Apparently it was, since Kate took off running, wrapping Jack in a massive embrace.

"Ow! Easy," Jack told her lightly, laughing as he said it. "My shoulder—"

"How'd you get out!" Hurley interrupted, beaming.

"Charlie found a way out!" Jack praised, clapping the Brit on the shoulder.

"Dude, you rock!" Hurley cried out happily, lifting Charlie off the ground in a massive bear hug, laughing as he did so.

I contemplated whether or not to hug Charlie after Hurley put him down. It didn't take long to decide. I wrapped my arms around his shoulders and embraced him. "When the rocks came down, we thought you were gone!"

"Nah, mate, it'll take more than a rockslide to bring down the great Charlie Pace!" I laughed at that, everyone laughed. Faces were beaming joy, voices were filled with laughter, after the scare we had just received, to see our friends alive and well was very powerful. No one was ashamed of their joy.

Everyone congratulated Charlie on his work, slapping his shoulder, shaking his hand or just saying so. The Brit beamed; I could see that being praised made him very happy. The scene was joyous.

It was made even better when Locke arrived a few hours dragging our boars back and the beach folk followed him for supper. Along came Claire, hobbling along as best she could.

"Hey," I said simply.

She looked at me in shock for a moment. "What happened to you?"

It took me a moment to realize what she was getting at, and then it struck me. My face was a mask of dirt and blood. My side was caked with the dried blood from opening my wound. I was suddenly very conscious of how terrifying I must look to her.

"I killed a boar and then helped dig Jack out of a cave in," I explained lamely.

"Em, hem," Claire nodded. "Well, you can explain it to me as I get you cleaned up," Claire grabbed my hand and begun dragging me towards the stream running through the cave.

"This really isn't necessary," I told her, not wanting her to leave but at the same time not wanting to appear over eager for her company.

"Do you want to try to clean yourself up and make it worse?" Claire asked pointedly, eyebrow raised, "because you can, you know."

I shook my head. "No. I'd probably just poke my eye out." Claire smiled ruefully, fetching a small handkerchief she seemed to have picked out as a washcloth. Claire bent over, putting the cloth in the stream, the cool running water soaking it through.

"So," Claire began, moving back towards me with cloth in hand, "you said you killed a boar?"

"Yep." I pointed at the smaller of the two boars, roasting over the fire on makeshift spits. "Stabbed him right through the skull. With this," I pointed to the knife on my waist, tilting my head ever so slightly.

"Hold still!" Claire commanded grabbing my chin with her free hand. Her hand felt so smooth against my rough skin. The cloth was cold, cutting through the layers of blood and grime, Claire moving it tenderly. "So you killed this boar . . ."  
"With John's help," I added, closing my eyes and enjoying the feeling of her.

"Of course." She slid the cloth along my forehead. She wrung the cloth out, a red-brown water falling from it to the cave floor. "Then what?" She dunked it into the river again, bringing a fresh supply of cleanliness onto it.

"I found my suitcase!" I added happily, a smile on my face. She nodded, scrubbing down my left cheek. "Now I'll have some clean clothes at least."

"Well you need them," Claire stated bluntly. "But I know nothing else fits you. So it's not your fault."

"Thanks, I guess," I answered hesitantly as she wiped the grim from my goatee.

"Now take your shirt off," she ordered. It was so blunt that it caught me off guard.

"What?"

"I can't get at your side with that T-shirt on, and it needs it, seeing that the blood stained through. So take it off!"

_Are you crazy? You aren't exactly ripped!_

Still I couldn't deny her logic. Reluctantly I pulled my shirt off, revealing my torso. I'm not that well built, but at least you can't see my ribcage anymore. Judging from the way Claire drew in her breath upon seeing my side wound.

"You should really have Jack sew that back up," she commented, dabbing the wound with the cloth.

"Its not that . . ." I hissed as the raw flesh came in contact with her washcloth. "Ow! Dang it . . ."

Claire snorted; it was a very cute noise, truth be told. "Yeah right. You can't even finish the sentence without grunting in pain." She clean more blood, I groaned some more.

"Come on! It's not that bad!" Claire scolded me, rubbing the tender skin with her wet cloth.

"How do you know? It's my side!" I grunted in reply. The fact that Claire was touching me was probably the only reason I hadn't snapped by now. It wasn't fun having my dirty wound cleaned, granted I'd probably die from infection.

"Now go find Jack. That's an order," Claire commanded, ringing out the cloth with both hands.

"Whatever for? You just cleaned the wound."

"But he'll need to stitch it back up, m'kay?" Claire said this as if talking to an unintelligent child. An unintelligent child she liked, but still, an unintelligent child.

I pulled my shirt back on. "Fine. Then maybe we can share some boar meat and play backgammon?"

Claire smiled her dreamy smile and I found my heart melting yet again. "I'd like that."

I nodded to her, heading off to see the doctor.

_I'd like that. Easy man, get a hold of yourself._

Jack was sitting by the fire, his face clean. Charlie had just left him. The man was warming himself and waiting for Locke to finish. Weren't we all?

Jack looked up as I hobbled over. "Hey Alec, that was quite the day, huh?" It was a simple greeting. It also happened to be true.

"You bet. Killed a boar and dug out a cave in. Never thought I'd do anything like that." I paused, looking nervously around at the remaining rock faces. "The rest of this isn't going to come down on us is it?"

Jack shook his head. "Michael did construction work. He checked out the rest of this structure; it's all good. We were just unlucky enough to find the one spot that wasn't stable."

"Well we've had nothing but bad luck since we came to the island," I stated, a grim grin on my face.

Jack laughed a bit. "That's far too true." He looked me up and down. "Though I'm guessing you're here for more than small talk?"

I nodded. "It's actually kind of embarrassing. I was boar hunting . . ."

"I take it that's when Locke gave you that knife?" Jack pointed at my blade.

"Yes. Anyways I was running and I . . . I pulled out my stitches."

Jack nodded. "How bad?"

"Bad."

Jack sighed. "Let me get my needle and thread . . ." He headed over to his new medical set up. It was far more advanced than the beach one, with a small chest of drawers and a table made from a plane chair rotated back.

"Take off your shirt," He demanded, returning needle in hand.

"That's the second time I've heard that," I grumbled under my breath, yanking it over my head.

Jack took one look at my side. "I'm going to need my tweezers," he surmised.

I didn't like the sound of that. "Why?" I asked cautiously.

"Because I'm going to have to pull out the old thread before I sew you up again," he stated matter of factly. That sounded very painful.

"Will it hurt?"

Jack bent forward, tweezers held ready. "Yep." He squeezed the little metal tool around the end of the black string and yanked it free. Jack was right, it did hurt. I hissed through my teeth as the string came loose.

"That wasn't so bad, was it?" Jack asked, sounding like every dentist I'd ever met.

I merely grunted.

If I'd thought that was bad it only got worse when Jack poured some peroxide on the wound. And while I was still dealing with that, he stabbed the needle into my side and started sewing me back up. The pain from that was extensive. After two minutes of that I wished a boar would just show up and gore me again. That'd be better than this.

What felt like five hours was probably only five minutes. I ended it with a very tender side.

"Look at it this way," Jack told me. "Your evening couldn't possible get any worse, could it?"


	19. Chapter 19 Snacks

**Chapter 19**

"**Snacks"**

Fortunately, he was right. The night passed pleasantly: I ate some boar, recited my day's adventures to Hurley, played backgammon with Claire and cleaned my knife. If I'd felt up to it I could have organized my suitcase's belongings, but exhaustion was overwhelming. I simply crawled into my suitcase, shut my eyes and was asleep before my head hit the pillow.

I awoke the next morning with my side's pain dulling to a mild throb, the fresh thread sore. My nose wasn't hurting at the moment but still, that could change.

I crawled from my bag, stretching my shoulders until my spine gave a satisfying pop. I rolled my neck around until it too cracked like a Styrofoam plate snapping in two.

First order of business was to organize the stuff that I'd packed into my newly rediscovered suitcase. I unzipped the bag with trembling fingers, almost afraid that it would all be gone. It wasn't. Everything I had packed was still there.

First I had an extra pair of jeans and three novelty t-shirts. I'm a bit of a nerd; my Nightwish shirt sat on top of the pile, looking clean and fresh. With a sigh of contentment I slipped it on. I could almost feel how clean it was compared to the considerably worn garment I'd had on for just about a week now. My toothbrush, toothpaste, razor and deodorant were all still in working order so I finally shaved and brushed my teeth, trimming my goatee back down to a more suitable size. I felt crisp and refreshed. After almost a week without shaving or brushing I had no idea just how good it would feel to finally do so.

I pulled out my three pocket novels: _Star Wars Republic Commando: Hard Contact_, _Ciaphas Cain: Death or Glory _and _I am Legend_. All the books were in perfect condition, not even bent. My glasses sat on top of the books, unscratched and undamaged. But I didn't even need them. Oddly enough, I could see fine. My small CD collection was still accounted for; Nightwish, Drive Shaft, Disturbed and Skillet, as well as others, looked up at me, discs in one piece.

Then, for the cream of the crop, my bodhran, packed under my clothes. The drumstick was fine; the drum was fine. I could scarcely believe my luck. This case had fallen out of a plane, for crying out loud, and it was okay. My discman had been with me, so I'd lost that as well as my _Angels fall First_ CD, but most of my collection was good.

My eyes were a little misty as I pulled the drum free. My fist clenched the handle tightly as I beat an experimental few beats on it, all coming back crisply and clearly. I was overjoyed. My hands began pounding out a pleasant tune at a rapid fire pace, some old seaman's song about coming home to the girl he left behind.

The beat echoed across the caves, some people turned their heads to listen but most just ignored it. Hurley came over and sat next to me as I drummed but didn't comment. He just sort of nodded his head to the beat, his mop of curly hair bouncing.

When Charlie sat next to Hurley he did more than just nod his head, the Brit drew out his guitar and started playing along. Soon enough, we were playing the famous 'You all Everybody' the acoustic version. I beat out the drum parts as best I could on the bodhran. It sounded different from the CD version, but in a good way. Charlie belted out the chorus acapella and I took on the backing vocals.

"Well, that was fun," Charlie stated after we'd wrapped up. "Liked the little drum bit you threw in. Nice touch, that."

"Thanks, mate!" I told him, beaming. "You okay? You look a little green."

Charlie shook his head. "I've got the flu." He coughed a bit.

I patted him on the shoulder. "That's rough, man, take care. You did just survive a cave in."

Charlie nodded fondly. "I will."

I stood up, putting my things back in my suitcase. I packed it in such a way that I'd know instantly if Sawyer had gone through it. Oddly enough, however, I actually doubted that he would.

_Maybe I'm getting soft._

I decided then that I was going down to the beach, after all. Claire had decided to stay, and I wanted to make sure she'd get what she needed.

With one more stretch and a casual pat of the knife by my side, I headed out into the jungle, pausing long enough to grab a pair of water bottles and some cold boar meat wrapped in a leaf. Should make the lady a decent breakfast.

The warm jungle air heated the back of my neck like a hot water bottle; the sounds of animals and birds filled the air. The jungle canopy welcomed me like a home, and it seemed to be. I was prepared to spend months on this island. I knew no rescue was coming, so I made the best of my current circumstances. It wasn't so bad really. We hadn't seen the monster in ages, everyone had started to get along, I'd found my missing stuff, and Charlie Pace was here. What more could you want, really? Well, a hamburger with cheese for one, and a rack of ribs, and my X-box... The thing that honestly bothered me the about this situation is I'd never be able to play Halo 2 and see the sequel to the game I so loved. Really it did suck, crashing in late September when the game would hit a mere two months later. Oh well, it could have been worse. I could be dead.

I stopped to take a long swig from my water bottle; the water was pleasantly cold, washing the heat from my throat with a pleasant spray.

_How does that water stay so cold? It's delicious._

I broke onto the beach with the sun high in the mid-morning sky. A quick gaze revealed that the beach was the same way I'd left it: people in their little tents, doing whatever. Hurley was fishing, it seemed to have become his unofficial job, Sawyer was chopping wood, the plane's axe rising and falling with his arms. Like Hurley, the Korean guy was fishing, though his net seemed to be far more successful than Hurley's pointy stick.

Claire was sitting on the sand, diary in hand, a tan bush-cap sitting on her head. She looked cute in it. Some people think I might be odd to think so, but I rather liked it.

"Morning delivery!" I announced cheerfully, handing her the boar meat and one of the water bottles.

Claire folded her book and put it down. "How sweet of you! Thanks!" She took the water from me, taking a nice long drag.

"Well, I figured hiking up to the caves would be out of the question for you," I answered, sitting on the beach next to her.

"I can still walk, you know," she responded, eyes rolling.

"Not that far," I told her. She gave me an indignant look, which I ignored. "You know," I mentioned casually, looking out to sea, "you being out here makes me nervous. It's very hot." Images of her heatstroke flashed back into my mind, and I enjoyed none of them.

"Thus my hat," she replied smartly, tapping its brim, as if the piece of canvas was the answer to everything.

"We've got a ton of hats up at the caves, you know," I told her, arms folded, "not to mention Jack, the doctor. I'm sure his skill set could come in handy, what with you being pregnant and all that."

Claire laughed. "I like the beach, Alec!" She shook her head.

"Right," I mentioned with casual distain, "the beach, with heat and sand, and sand fleas. Top quality accommodations."

"I want to be here," she told me seriously, "for when we get rescued."

"Right," I told her, trying not to sound pessimistic, "when we get rescued."

I took a long draft from my water bottle. "Anything particularly exciting happen today?" I asked casually, not wanting to leave her presence.

"Not really," she answered honestly. "Today's laundry day, I could use a hand with that."

A horrified shudder went up my spine. Women's laundry was not something a man should touch. Ever. It was . . . awkward.

"Um, sure . . . I suppose I could help," I heard myself blurt out. My mind tried desperately to take the words back but I'd committed. She seemed so pleased to get a hand that I didn't want to crush her spirit.

_Come on man. You've killed a friggin' boar! How hard can a woman's laundry be?  
Boars aren't frilly._

My internal argument went on in a matter of seconds, my hand slipping down to caress the pommel on my knife, something that was fast becoming a nervous habit.

"You really are a gentleman," Claire chuckled. "If it makes you feel any better you won't have to do much. I'll scrub them in the ocean, since I can sit down while doing it. You just have to string them up on that line there." She gestured at a thin white line she'd hung, or had someone hang, between her tent and the burnt remains of the fuselage. "I can't reach it very well anymore."

Hoping that I wouldn't have to touch anything too embarrassing, I nodded. "Shall we begin?"

Claire shrugged, finishing off the water, saving the boar for later. "Might as well get it done early." Her Aussie accent added a degree of cheer that those words shouldn't have contained. She twisted around in her seat, bringing forward a suitcase full of crumbled clothing. "My laundry basket," she explained when she noticed me looking at it intently.

"I suppose no one would pack something like that," I mused, stretching lazily in the sand.

"That would be silly," Claire agreed, removing the first loose fitting shirt, rubbing it in the ocean foam. "I really wish I had a washing machine."

I picked up on her hopes, adding one of my own. "I really wish I had a plate of back ribs, smothered in barbeque sauce, with a side of poutine." The very thought of that meal made my mouth water with anticipation.

"I miss a nice fluffy pillow and a warm blanket," Claire went on, tossing the first loose fitting shirt at me. It was purple, with long sleeves, clearly designed for a woman of larger size, so it fit Claire fine. Thankful that it wasn't too weird, I hung it up on the line. The twist tags Claire had sitting in a pile proved to be efficient clothespins.

"I really miss hamburgers. Thick and juicy, dripping with onions and cheese . . . Mmmmmmmmm . . ." My thoughts trailed off as I could almost taste the imaginary burger in my mouth.

"I miss showers, with hot water and soap," Claire went on, scrubbing at something else I couldn't see.

"I miss chilled soft drinks, with ice, the glasses frosty," I answered, wishing I'd chosen a different topic. Food was on my mind now, and nothing else.

"I miss houses, with heat and a roof over my head, as I snuggle in a warm bed," Claire told me dreamily, tossing back a blank tank top. I stood to hang it up, trying hard to get the image of us snuggling happily out of my mind.

"I miss fried chicken," I threw in, happily back thinking about food again.

"Warm fluffy towels!" Claire laughed. "Your turn!" She tossed me back another shirt, almost as if she knew I had no desire to witness her undergarments.

"Back ribs, with barbeque sauce . . ." I drooled a little.

"You already said that!" Clare laughed, passing me a nice enough tan jacket.

"Poutine. Well made poutine. Mmmm . . ." I couldn't get the image out of my mind. I could almost taste the gravy covered goodness, see the steam rising from the melted cheese.

"You said that, too. Do you miss anything you can't eat?" Claire asked happily, passing me another tank top.

"You're the pregnant one!" I replied, surprised, looking into her smiling, hat-covered face. "Don't you crave anything? My mother always did!" I racked my brain trying to think of things that pregnant woman loved. "Pickles, chocolate, deep-fried ice cream?"

"Peanut butter," Claire answered, leaning back in her chair, laundry apparently done for now. "I love peanut butter. And yes, I'm still Australian."

"You mentioned that before!" I answered, chuckling a bit myself. A crazy idea crossed over my mind, one in hindsight I never should have allowed to reside in my mind. "You know, I can get you peanut butter."

Claire snorted loudly and indignantly, the wind blowing her hair about gently, "Yeah, right." Her rolling eyes proved her scepticism.

"I mean it!" I answered indignantly. "And when I do, you abandon the beaches of depression and doom and move into the caves." I held out my left hand, being left handed. "Deal?"  
Claire thought for a moment, then took my hand in hers. Her skin was soft and smooth against my own callused grip. "Deal."

I nodded. "Just you wait, Claire. I'll come back with peanut butter, just you watch!"

"We'll see," Claire told me, clearly amused, before tipping her hat over her eyes and taking a mid-morning nap.

There was one man I figured could possess what I was looking for. I caught up to him in the jungle as I headed back towards the caves to see what I could find. When he told me there wasn't even a bag of peanuts left I could barely handle it.

"Are you sure? It's all gone?" I asked him, my meager hopes fast turning into impossible dreams.

"Sorry man, we've eaten all of the plane food. About a week ago." Hurley trudged on ahead of me, single-mindedly determined in whatever he was doing. From his bag it looked like he was taking some of his newly caught fish back to the cave.

"Like, all of it all?" I asked, trying hard to keep hoping. "No secret stash for emergencies? No hidden hoard?"

"Dude, nothing," Hurley answered impatiently. "Nada, zilch, none, does not exist, is not present."

"Well, did you see any peanuts in the woods?" I continued. "Like, growing? I could try and make some."

"Peanuts don't grow anywhere near here, dude. Sorry," Hurley informed me, not bothering to look back.

"So you can't help me?"

"No."

'You don't even . . ."  
"DUDE!"

"Sorry," I apologized, lifting my hands in apology.

"If you want the one guy who's probably hoarding stuff," Hurley stated, picking up on what I'd implied, "try Sawyer. He's got everything."

I stroked my goatee thoughtfully, Hurley did have a point. "How do I get him to give them to me?"  
"I dunno, dude, trade him something." Hurley marched along his way towards the caves leaving me alone with my thoughts.

_Sawyer? Well, I do have a knife now. If he tries to attack me I can take him. Besides, Hurley's right. If anyone's going to have peanuts, it's Sawyer._

Feeling invigorated by the prospect, my journey back out of the jungle was much faster than my trip into it. The rising heat informed me I was nearing the beach after some time walking. It was odd really, I'd become something of an outdoorsman. I was always a city guy, yet I'd adapted. With Locke's help, of course. I felt proud of myself, for a reason I couldn't peg.

Shaking the thought to the back of my mind, I shoved aside the foliage from two trees to reveal the beach. The former medical tent had been taken over by Sawyer, probably because he was too lazy to make his own.

According to my calculations I should arrive behind the medical tent. I was pleasantly surprised to find myself only a few meters off course. Not bad at all.

I arrived in time to see Jack and Sayid dragging an unconscious Sawyer out of his tent. The blood dripping from his head was a good clue as to what was going on.

Jack saw me looking on. "He wouldn't give Shannon her inhalers." The statement told me all I needed to know.

"Do you mind if I go through his stuff?" I asked casually, cocking a thumb at the tent.

"No, go ahead," Jack answered as the pair dragged the incoherent redneck out of the camp and into the jungle. I'm not going to lie, part of me was quite happy to see Sawyer get his. That man had been a pain in rear ever since I landed. The irony of me going through his stuff was incredibly amusing.

Feeling no regret, I strolled right into his now unoccupied tent. He'd laid all of his possessions in two suitcases, both of which were open. On a plane chair he'd clearly claimed as his own, a small book lay half open, as if it had been resting on his lap and fallen onto his chair. I'd always been an avid reader and, more out of respect for the book than the man, I picked it up, inserting a makeshift bookmark made from a page in the pad of paper Sawyer had claimed. The cover revealed the novel to be a copy of _Watership Down_. I'd never read the book myself, and to be honest I was surprised he was.

_Sawyer can read? I wouldn't believe he could spell his own name._

I put the book down, book mark in place and went through the first suitcase. It was clothes, just clothes. I dug through the whole thing just to make sure there weren't any hidden peanuts. There weren't.

The next suitcase was an eclectic mix of packs of cigarettes, empty styrofoam containers and magazines(mostly Playboys). Part of the suitcase contained something wrapped in a napkin. My curiosity aroused, I undid the wrapping to find myself staring into the empty sockets of a fish skull. It seemed that our resident Yankee fancied himself a gentleman, keeping his digs clean. I rewrapped the fish and went to the chair. Two empty water bottles mocked me, but that was it. I searched everywhere, certain that Sawyer had a secret stash of peanuts. I was positive.

Unfortunately all the positive thinking in the world can't make peanuts materialize out of thin air. Not even Sawyer, the king of hoarding, had anything! I was devastated.


	20. Chapter 20 Invisible Peanut Butter

Chapter 20

"Invisible Peanut Butter"

Hanging my head in shame and despair, I trudged out of the tent, dragging my feet. I walked for a few meters until I came across a nice clump of sand that looked comfortable enough. Plopping myself into it, I drew my knife absentmindedly. The sun reflected brilliantly off the shining steel beams in all directions. The bottom half of the blade was notched, no doubt for tarring purposes. For a moment I felt the boar collapse under my blade, felt its blood on my face again. That thought pleased me. Doodling in the sand with my knife, I wouldn't have noticed Charlie approaching if he hadn't been playing his guitar. Crisp notes filled the empty spaces.

"Hey, mate," Charlie greeted, "why so glum?"

"I'm not glum," I responded, adding another few wavy lines to the doodle. To be honest, I had no idea what I was drawing.

"Of course you are," he told me, stopping his playing and letting the instrument sling over his shoulder. "Otherwise your head wouldn't be hung between your knees."

I sighed. "You sound chipper." The response came out more bitter than I had intended.

"My flu broke," he stated happily. "Now are you going to tell me what's wrong?"

I shook my head. "I made a bet with Claire."

"I can see where this is going," Charlie stated sagely and unhelpfully.

"Do you want to know what's happening or not?" I snapped.

"Sorry. Do go on."

"Anyways, she told me she had a real peanut craving. I bet her that I could get her some peanut butter. If I did, she'd move to the caves."

"Let me guess," Charlie began, "there wasn't any."

"None! Not even a shell! I've looked everywhere!" I began listing them off on my fingers exasperatedly. "With Hurley, with Sawyer, in the jungle. Nothing."

"Huh," Charlie paused, "I might be able to help."

I spun around rapidly. "Really?" I could hardly believe it.

Charlie reached back into the rucksack slung over his other shoulder. With a slight delay to add to the drama he removed a jar. It was glass with a metallic lid, only one major thing, it was empty. "What do you see?" Charlie asked mysteriously.

"An empty jar." I was less than impressed.

"No its not." He unscrewed the lid slowly. "It's full to the brim with peanut butter, extra smooth, so creamy it makes you want a glass of milk." He scraped his finger along the underside of the brim. "It's delicious." He stuck his finger in his mouth and sucked it as if it was covered with creamy peanut butter.

"Charlie, you're sucking on your finger." I told him, my brain still not connecting the dots.

"Alec, have you never used your imagination?" he asked disbelievingly, mouth slightly open, empty jar held in his right hand.

"Well, yeah, I have," I back pedalled, "but Claire wants real peanut butter."

"Listen mate, women are a sucker for romantic things. That whole sentimental angle is the way to go."

"Are you sure?"

"Who do you think you're talking to? Hurley? I am the great Charlie Pace!" he told me with a smirk. "Do you think I'd give you bad advice?"

"Well no . . ."

"Good! Now pay attention!" He put the jar back into his sack. "You really have to build up to the moment that jar comes out." He paused looking around. "First you need to deliver some sort of build up, tell her its extra smooth or something." He brought the jar out of his bag slowly. "You need to be very serious in your delivery, or it won't work. When she says its empty you tell her, 'No it's not. It's filled to the brim with, stick to the roof of your mouth, so creamy it makes you want a glass of milk, extra smooth peanut butter.' Then you suck on your finger like it was covered in the stuff." Charlie proceeded to demonstrate, something I really didn't need to see. "Then you tell her, 'Its the best bloody peanut butter I've ever tasted', got that?"

I nodded. "Then I offer her some, right?"

Charlie smiled. "Got it in one." He tossed me the container. "You've got to be confident in this. Bold, like you really believe it's peanut butter in there. Make an entrance, start packing her things right away. Make sense?"

I nodded once again. "Okay. I'm not sure I can pull this off."

"Trust me, you'll be fine. You want Claire to move to the caves, right?"

"Yes."

Charlie clapped me on the shoulder. "Then you'll make it work." He waved me away. "Now get going! You've got imaginary peanut butter to consume with a certain pregnant lady!"

I saluted, starting down the beach. Suddenly a thought struck me. "Why are you helping me win Claire over, Charlie? I thought you liked her?"

The Brit shrugged. "Never really had a chance, mate. Cheers."

* * *

Just like Charlie suggested, I started taking down Claire's laundry, packing it into her suitcase. It surprised her a bit when she came too. "What're you doing?" she asked groggily.  
Here we go.

"Packing your things," I stated matter of factly.

"Whatever for?" The blonde Aussie asked me, still tired.

"You're moving to the caves," I told her, looking back with a confident smirk.

"No way!" Claire bubbled, sitting up with a magnificent smile on her face. "Peanut butter?"  
She bore the same expression my younger siblings had every Christmas. Her face beamed with the light of pure joy. The smile on her face made her even more beautiful to me.

_I wish I had a tub of peanut butter for you._

"Just like you ordered," I told her reaching back into the backpack I'd adopted as my own.

_Remember the 'extra smooth' line._

"One thing," I cautioned, holding up an empty hand, "it's extra smooth."

Claire got a cute curious expression. "That's okay." She laughed, her smile never faltering.

"Alright, then." I pulled the empty jar from my pack, popping the lid off with the point of my knife. As I slide the blade back into its sheath Claire gave me an inquisitive look.

"Alec, that jar's empty."

Time for the acting. "What?" I asked shocked, "No. Its full to the brim with extra smooth peanut butter." I ran my finger along the rim of the empty jar, bringing it up to my lips slowly. "So creamy, it makes you want a glass of milk." I started sucking on my finger, trying not to think about how stupid I must look. "It's the best bloody peanut butter I've ever tasted." I sat down so I was level with Claire, holding out the jar to her. "Want some?"

Claire giggled but after a moment she stuck her finger in the jar and took some of the 'peanut butter'. "Well," she told me, licking her finger clean from the imaginary food. "This is the best peanut butter I've ever tasted."

"I thought so," I told her, sticking my hand back into the bottle. Our hands brushed together momentarily, Claire looked up at me, blushing a bit. I could feel my own face heating up, but I didn't pull my hand out. Our hands maintained contact for a few sweet moments more before we pulled them back almost by mutual consent.

"I wish we had a glass of milk right about now," Claire told me, almost expectantly with a slight smile on her face.

"I've got a bottle of milk, does that count?" I told her with a happy smirk of my on. Charlie hadn't suggested it, but I felt it'd help. I passed her the empty bottle. "It's chilled to perfection."

Claire took it from me. "Good. I like my milk cold." She put the empty container to her lips, her throat constricting. "It's delicious."

"Only the best for our expectant mother." I took another handful of the non-existent peanut butter.

"I hope you can afford the expense!" Claire asked, sticking her fingers in and licking the clean.

"Well, I had doubts," I told her, "but, hey, it all came together."

Claire giggled, our falsified conversation clearly amusing her greatly. "That's good, I wouldn't want you stretching your budget on my account."

We sat together on the beach, taking handfuls of that imaginary peanut butter, the sun slowly sinking behind us. "That was delicious," I told her after I had scrapped the last imaginary clump free.

Claire licked her rosy lips. "A deal's a deal good Mr. Timm. If you'll help me carry my things, it looks like I'll be moving to the caves."

I closed the lid on one of her suitcases, after tucking the empty jar back into my pack. That little empty jar had helped me out, and there was no way I was throwing it out. Claire stood slowly, hands pressed against the small of her back. I picked up both her suitcases, nodding my head in the direction of the caves. "Shall we go?"  
Claire nodded happily.

"Yes, I think we shall." She began a little stroll, a spring in her step. I followed along beside her, the bags in my hands not holding me down in the slightest. I was overjoyed.

_She's moving! She'll be safe! Charlie was right!_

"So what's it like in these caves?" Claire asked me absently.

"It's nice, a cool constant temperature," I told her, smiling myself. "The tree canopy keeps the sunlight down to a minimum. You won't need that hat," I told her, looking at it pointedly since my hands were full, "though it looks good on you."

Crap. Shouldn't have added that last part. Claire just flashed me one of her radiant smiles. "Why thank you! I suppose the company is quite fine."

Better because of you.

"Well, we've got Hurley," I told her, "and Locke, our great warrior. Jack, too. Oh and the best part is . . . Wait for it," I told her. "No Sawyer!"

Claire giggled. "You two don't get along?"

"Got that right," I answered in a heartbeat. "It's not his fault really, I'm sure there must be some reason for him to act like a sodding jerk." I couldn't believe I'd just said sodding; Charlie must have been rubbing off on me.  
I gazed past Claire's head, glancing towards the burnt out remains of the fuselage. Crouching behind it, a grin written across his face was Charlie. The British bassist cocked a smile and gave me thumbs up.  
I gave him a casual wink in return, one that wasn't missed by the sharp-eyed Claire.

"What was that about?" she asked me, a serious look on her face.

"Nothing!" I responded hastily. "Just something in my eye."

I caught the sight of Charlie holding both hands over his mouth to try and stop the laughter erupting from within him.  
Claire tossed her head, her curly locks bouncing in the wind. "Well, then, shall we get on to these caves? They aren't going to come to us."

* * *

A day and a half went by without major incident. Living in the caves with Claire rose my spirits through the roof, and despite her initial reservations she seemed to enjoy herself. Sayid didn't come back. He'd left almost simultaneously with my journey to the caves with Claire. Kate told me it had something to do with his guilt over torturing Sawyer. I felt that it served Sawyer right for being a douche bag, but that wasn't my call.  
Locke took me on another hunt, and we caught another boar. I put a second notch in the handle of my blade for my second kill. I didn't need new stitches and Jack removed the splint from my nose, declaring it 'fully healed.' It seemed odd to me that it would recover so fast, but careful probing with my fingers confirmed it to be whole.

Weird, but I wasn't taking any chances.

It was mid afternoon of the second day since Sayid left when I placed my bodhran down. The chess set was calling to me. Truth be told, I had no idea who'd play with me: Hurley was fishing, Claire was napping, Locke was hunting and Charlie was doing whatever he did.  
I flipped a suitcase on its end, setting up my table, the marble board flopping down on top, ready for another game. My bag of pieces was emptied and I was halfway through white when I heard the voice.

"Hi there." I turned in the direction of the sound, its speaker was unfamiliar to me. He was tall and lean, with a mahogany crew cut, he's cheek bones were very pronounced and he had a rather large nose.

"Hey, yourself," I told him, dropping the white king and queen into place.

"That's quite the set you've got there," the man told me, gesturing at it. His hands looked calloused and strong, as if he'd done plenty of manual labour.

"It's not really mine," I told him, setting up the rest of white team. "Found it in the wreckage. Most of it, anyway: the wooden pieces are carved by Mr. Locke, our resident all-around warrior."

"Locke's the bald guy, right?" the man asked me.

"Yep." I smiled. "He does project a presence."

"Do you mind?" he asked, pointing at the board. "It's been a while since I played."

"Be my guest." He sat down opposite to me. "Light or dark?"

"Light. I prefer to move first," he told me, setting his fingers casually upon one of the pawns, advancing it a cautious one space.

I made my traditional knight move. "So, where are you from?" I asked.

Another white pawn slid across the board. "Ontario."

I laughed. "A fellow Canuck! Welcome!" I moved a pawn. "Business trip, huh?"

He moved a bishop with blinding speed. "Something like that."

I realized that this man was no novice and stepped up my game play, getting another pawn engaged. "I'm Alec. I was going home."

"I was heading home, too," he told we with a trustworthy smile. Another bishop was in play and before I could realize what was happening, one of my pawns was gone. "I'm Ethan Rom, if you're wondering."

"Well, Ethan," I told him, advancing my knight, "you play very well. Where did you learn?"

Another of his pieces moved across the board, a rook. He was good, very good. "I have a friend, Ben. We played a lot."

I tried desperately to reinforce my front.

"Chess is like life," he told me in an oddly cold tone. "First you set your plans in motion." Another piece moved, another of mine fallen. "Trap your target where it has no hope of escape." I moved my king back. Only to find him countering that move. "When the target has nowhere to run, left unprepared, you strike." With horror I realized my king couldn't escape, his bishop took it.

I looked at him nervously, my mind trying to process what had just happened. Ethan smiled at me. "Sorry. I get

into it." He looked at me almost apologetically. "Care for another game?"  
"Ethan!" I heard Locke call out. "Ready to head out again?"

I looked at this guy. "You work with Locke?"

Ethan shrugged. "Never caught his name."

Locke nodded at me. "Hey, Alec. Ethan here is a tracker! A good one, too! He's been showing even me a few tricks."

"So, you hunt together?" I asked cautiously, a little suppressed that Locke could get advice on that subject.

"Once, we brought that big one in that time. You remember?" I sure did. I'd become a bit of a boar coinsurer from all the pig meat I'd been eating so I could tell a good one from an okay one. That was a good one.

"That one with the excellent snout?" Ethan nodded.

"He was fast! Fortunately we'd sharpened up some spears for the occasion."

"Ethan makes spears." Locke pointed at the man. "Finds a nice sturdy branch and sharpens the point into something any pike man would be proud of." He shook himself back into focus. "Anyways we've got to get going." He pointed his thumb at the cave entrance. "The boar won't wait."

Ethan nodded. "Nice meeting you."

"You too," I told his departing form. Something about that guy didn't seem quite right. It was probably nothing. I shook the paranoid thoughts from my mind. Maybe a good book would help me relax.


	21. Chapter 21 Mulligans and Holes

**Chapter 21**

"**Mulligans and Holes"**

The twelfth chapter of _Hard Contact_ proved to be just as excellent as the previous eleven. The tale of the squad of clone commandos, trapped behind enemy lines after a crash landing, stuck with me. Maybe I could appreciate the situation after having survived a plane crash myself. Hurley had loaned me his discman and the soothing music from Nightwish filled my ears. How I'd missed it.

It was a funny thing: you didn't really realize just how much of the little stuff you missed until it was back with you again. I doubted I'd ever be able to experience this feeling with a Pillsbury pizza pocket, but hey, one could dream.

Crashing into the caves puffing slightly, his green shirt stained with sweat, Hurley approached me with something in his hands. A pair of shovels, I realized after some close examination.

"Hey, man? Want your disc player back?" I asked, moving the headphones away from my ears.

"Nope! Come with me right now! I'll explain on the way!" Hurley seemed pretty excited about this, so I turned off the discman and put a bookmark in my story.

As we exited the caves, Hurley pointed to a suitcase and a golf bag. Clubs were sticking out of it. "Take those, dude. We're going to need them!"

Slinging the golf bag over my shoulder and grabbing the suitcase handle, I put my curiosity into words. "What for?"

Smiling casually, Hurley answered, "You'll see."

We were trudging through the jungle, the sun high in the sky. "How long?"

"Dude, it's morning. You were reading your book and passed out."

"Really? I only closed my eyes for a moment . . ."

"You were snoring, but that's besides the point. Last night," Hurley explained, "Jack was treating a dude with hives. This man was panicking, thinking he'd got some sort of killer disease." I nodded, letting the big man continue with his story. "The doc told him 'not to think about it'. What else has this dude got to think about but his killer hives?"

"Nothing, I guess, our lives aren't exactly rich with entertainment options right now."

Hurley nodded, his curly hair bouncing happily as if it had a mind of its own. "Jack tells me he's too busy keeping us alive to worry about entertainment. I understand that and respect that. So I figured, I'd take care of our other problem myself."

"So you've solved our entertainment issue?" I probed.

"Partially." Hurley pointed to a clearing. "We're here, dude!"

The area he'd led me to was a rolling field between the jungle and the ocean, the grass a rich green and the sky a sparkling blue. The mountains in the distance provided a magnificent backdrop.

I could see Claire and myself standing by the ocean, looking into her blue eyes, wrapping my hand in her golden locks, bringing those rosy lips to my own...

"Dude?" Hurley snapped me out of that line of thought. I shook the images of Claire from my mind, pleasant though they may be. "You okay? You kinda just started staring out into nowhere."

"I'm fine, just got distracted," I told the big man, not wanting to draw more attention to it. "What do you want me to do?"

Handing me a shovel as he explained, Hurley pointed out his plan. "Take this shovel over to that bluff and dig a hole about the size of my fist. Can you do that?"

I took a squinting look at Hurley's fist, mentally calculating the size. "Yeah, I think I can. Why?"

Hurley just smiled cryptically. "It'll make sense when you do it. After you dig that hole head over near that bluff." He pointed his finger at the lump in the distance. "And dig a similar hole."

"What'll you be doing?" I asked Hurley casually, leaning on the shovel; not minding the opportunity to stretch my legs.

The big man jacked a thumb at the golf bag and the suitcase. "Something else," he told me in a tone that implied I'd have to find out on my own.

Shrugging, I began the trudge out to the first marked location, shovel slung lazily over my shoulder. The crude, lumpy wood would have bruised my hands, if they hadn't been calloused from the work I'd already done. The sun beat down on my face, adding more to the sunburns I'd already started to acquire. I didn't have any sunscreen—not that I'd have used it if I did, I hated sunscreen. The grass around my ankles was so high that my feet left footprints.

_Someone needs to take a lawn mower to this patch._

I glanced over my shoulder at Hurley, jabbing the ground with my shovel to ask if I was far enough. I didn't want to waste my breath. He gave me a nod and thumbs up, then went back to whatever he was doing. I couldn't tell from this distance, but he had a long stick on his lap and something bright in his hand. Turning back to my own task, I tried to figure out how I was going to dig a hole small enough to match Hurley's description. With extreme caution I jabbed the shovel into the dirt. The jagged metal head released the fresh smell of damp earth, filling my nostrils with its pleasant musk. I carefully scooped out half a shovel full, depositing it in a pile next to the new hole. A glance convinced me it wasn't enough so I took another half scoop. The hole was wide and deep enough but I spent five more minutes edging it so it looked like a proper hole for whatever it was I was contributing to.

Satisfied that this new hole wasn't going to implode as soon as I turned my back, I began my little journey to the other place Hurley had marked. It took me longer than I had expected.

Wondering what Hurley could possibly want with two tiny holes a few kilos or so apart I bent my back and started digging. Knowing what to do this time, I had this new hole dug in about half the time. Leaning back I wiped a hand across my brow, wishing I'd had the foresight to pack a water bottle.

"Hey, dude, nice job."

I spun around in a hurry. "How'd you get over here so stealthily?" I demanded, feeling a little annoyed with myself for letting him get to me.

"I'm spry." With that Hurley stabbed what he'd made into my hole. It was in fact a long wooden pole with a bright orange Hawaiian shirt tied to the end of it. The shirt fluttered in the wind like a little flag.

A glance back at my other hole proved that Hurley had planted another of his flag shirts in it too. My gaze went back to where he'd been sitting to see the upright bag of golf clubs, the tee set in place, a ball onto of it.

"It's a golf course," I said my brain finally connecting the dots.

"Got it in one, dude," Hurley congratulated. "I figured, hey, we need something to do, right? Or we go nutso waiting for the next load of crap to fall on our heads."

I nodded in agreement. "Dead on, Hurley. People like the hive-guy have to do something to take their minds off of the situation."

The big man seemed happy that I'd agreed with his assessment.

"Hey, guys, what's going on?" a familiar British voice asked, arriving out of the jungle.

"Well, Charlie . . ." I began.

Hurley cut me off. "Dude! Get Jack! He's got to see this!"

"Hurley . . ."

"He's got to!"

Charlie sighed and began tromping back though the woods, muttering under his breath about running through the jungle for nothing.

"How do you think Jack's gonna react?" I asked my friend cautiously.

"He's gonna love it. Now come on!" Hurley told me, grabbing onto one of the makeshift flags in a jaunty pose. "Let's make a grand entrance."

Charlie brought Jack and Michael back a while later, Hurley certainly made his entrance. "Welcome," his voice boomed as the trio entered, "to the first, and hopefully last, Island open!"

The three of them just stared at us, like we were crazy or something, "What?" Michael asked after a brief pause.

"It's two holes for now, three par, and no waiting!" He added that last part with an elaborate hand gesture, showcasing the course.

"Hurley," Jack asked, sounding a bit unsure, "you built a golf course?"

"Rich idiots pay thousands to fly to tropical islands all the time to whack balls around," Hurley informed them, sounding like a salesman pitching a car.

"Why not take advantage of our predicament for something?" I added. "I've never played golf, so why not try?"

"With all the stuff we have to deal with, man," Michael reprimanded, pointing angrily at the flag, "and this is what you've been wasting your time on?"

"Dudes, listen, our lives suck," Hurley announced without fanfare.

_With monsters, boars, criminals and lack of hygiene I can't really disagree with that statement._

"Everyone's nerves are stretched to the max," Hurley went on. "I mean, we're lost on an island, running from boars and monsters! Freaking polar bears!"

"Polar bears?" Michael asked incredulously.

"You didn't hear about the polar bear?" Charlie asked him, sounding a tad bit shocked.

"All I'm saying is," Hurley made a gesture, "if we're stuck here, then just surviving's not gonna cut it. We need some kind of relief, some way we can . . ." He trailed off, waving his hands around as if he could pluck the words he needed out of thin air. "You know? Have fun!" Everyone looked at him like he was nuts. "That's right, fun! Or else we're gonna go crazy just waiting for the next bad thing to happen."

Everyone looked on for a while. "Come on, Jack, he worked hard on this," I told the doc.

He looked up and down the course. "Three par, huh?" Then he stated with full confidence. "I can take that."

"Whoa! It's on!" Charlie announced with a laugh.

"Hey man, you and me?" Michael asked Jack pointing between the two of them. "Against those three?"

"Don't those odds seem a little uneven?" the Brit inquired.

"I've never played and he's a doctor."

"Dudes, Alec's right. Him Charlie and me against you, dudes!"

Jack pulled a coin from his pack pocket, a battered but still readable quarter. "Heads or tails?"

"We get to pick?" I asked, a little pleased by that.

"Well, I am a doctor."

"Dude! Heads!"

Jack tossed the coin, the sunlight gleamed off it as it turned a few times and plummeted. Judging by Jack's expression we'd won the toss.

"Huddle!" Charlie announced and the three of us formed a ring.

"Who's going first?" Hurley asked in a whisper.

"I'm the weakest link," I stated.

"You first," Charlie stated, pointing at me. "If you screw up too badly, me and Hurley can get you out. Sound good?"

"Yep." Hurley nodded a yes as well.

"Alec takes first swing!" Charlie announced to our opponents. "Use the twelve iron," he whispered to me.

Hurley handed me one of the golf clubs, honestly it looked the same to me as all the others. I was no good at mini-golf so I doubted I'd be any better at the larger version.

"Bend your knees and hold the club with both hands. Swing all the way through," Jack advised, making the motions with his hands.

I nodded my thanks and looked at the ball, gazed at it. I shifted once, sniffed, then swung. I kept the momentum all the way though like Jack instructed, hitting the ball with a satisfying smack. I watched the ball sail through the air, landing in the grass a few meters from the first hole, orange shirt fluttering.

Everyone clapped. "Nice job, man, " Michael congratulated.

The game was on.

* * *

I'm not trying to sound full of myself, but we did a good job. We got the first hole in three, par for the hole. Jack and Michael had hit a bit of a rut, so naturally we were trying to distract them. Standing next to the hole gave us the perfect location to do so.

"Yo, dude! Polar bear!" Hurley shouted, jabbing his club in the direction of the jungle.

Charlie started playing air guitar on his, singing 'You All Everybody' as loud as he could. I waved the club around my head like a propeller, making general catcalls but nothing actually coherent. Jack and Michael ignored us, deep in hidden conversation over the ball.

"Maybe it'll move if you ask?" I suggested loudly as I waved the club around, surprised I hadn't hit myself in the face.

Jack turned to face us, pointing a finger in our direction as Michael handed him a club. "Hey!" he shouted. Hurley proceeded to rotate his torso and Charlie danced around with his club, I rode mine like a horse. "Heads up over there!"

"No, Jack! You won't get anywhere near us!" Charlie shouted back.

"Don't blow it!" Hurley added.

"Mind your aim!" I chimed in.

Jack leaned back, planted both his feet firmly on the ground, wound up. "Hey! Doc!" A voice chimed in. Jack threw his head back in frustration, then signaled for us to wait. "Hey, there you are!" The voice continued, a looked to see a gangly man in circular glasses striding over. Hives guy, I assumed. "The others said you went this way. Listen," he droned on, sounding like an irritating gnat, "that rash of mine, it's starting to spread. It's like the size of a grape . . ." He trailed off as the realization of what we were doing struck him. He glanced and Michael and Jack then me, Hurley and Charlie. "Are you playing golf?" He asked indignantly, sounding very peeved. I looked down at my feet, I didn't want to meet his gaze.

"Yeah," Jack answered after a bit of a pause.

"Can I play?"

"Yeah! Of course you can!" Jack answered hastily, sounding relived by the man's statement. "Michael, get him a club."

Hives guy leaned back confidently, taking the club handed to him with barely contained swagger. He sized the ball up once and then took a swing. The smack resounded crisply as the ball soared through the air, landing right at my feet.

I looked down at the ball with surprise.

"Oh, bollocks," Charlie groaned, smacking his forehead. "Looks like our new friend can play."

Michael picked his club as the opposing team came towards the hole. "Where'd you learn to play like that?" I asked Hives guy, leaning against my golf club absently.

He smiled. "My name's Oscar Fiebich. I'm a pro. These are my clubs actually, I was coming back from a tournament." He nodded at the club in his hand fondly. "I don't mind you guys using them though."

"We're screwed," Hurley muttered next to me. "A doctor _and_ a pro?"

Michael putted the ball down hole one with ease, getting their team on par.

"I don't doubt that," I groaned without optimism.

"Alright guys," Jack told us, tossing a ball at Charlie, "you're up."

"Bloody brilliant," Charlie grumbled under his breath.

"Golfing, huh?" Ethan announced making his entrance, followed by several others. "When I heard that Hurley'd built a golf course, I didn't believe it. Room for one more?"

Hurley shook his head. "Sorry, dude, team's full, other people can play after we're done."

Ethan nodded understandingly, as the crowd formed a semi-circle around me. I felt the pressure, the back of my neck tingling as I felt the crowd's anticipation. It didn't help as even more arrived from the beach. I made the Catholic cross over my head and chest for luck. I'm not Catholic, actually, I'm Baptist, but I'd been doing this sign since I'd been a little kid. My sweat covered the club's handle, the knife sitting at my waist feeling just a tad heavier. I made three practice swings and finally hit the ball.

Shielding my eyes from the sun with a hand, I observed the plastic sphere arching through the sky before landing easily on the grass. Not a good shot, not a terrible one either.

Oscar picked his club up with far more confidence, barely looking at the ball before smacking it casually, putting it a good few meters closer to the hole than mine. "Not a bad shot," He acknowledged towards me, giving me a friendly smile. I nodded my thanks before moving aside for Hurley.

The big man squared up, took a swing, and nailed a big clump of grass. "Crap! Do over!" He announced, adjusting his stance.

"Keep your eye on the ball," Oscar advised, squinting from behind his wire rimmed glasses, "Don't let it out of your sight!"

"It's a mulligan, not a do-over," Charlie corrected. "It's a gentleman's sport, you've got to get the words right. Mulligan." He walked towards Hurley putting his hands on his arms, "Here, let me . . ."  
"Dude! Get away from me! Let me focus!" Hurley shouted forcing Charlie back. He breathed out through his nose and took another swing, punting the grass away from his ball. Everyone laughed. "Bah! Come on!" Hurley growled in frustration striking the ball again. This time it connected giving another couple of hops closer to the final hole. We had one more shot to make par.

"Michael, you're up!" Charlie announced to him. The man looked pleased, wrapping up a conversation with Walt I didn't even know he had been having.

"Get us in place, Michael," Jock ordered casually, standing back arms folded.

"Don't worry, man, I got this," Michael stated confidently, squaring up to the ball. He gave it a nice gentle tap, rolling almost right next to my team's ball.  
There was applause from the crowd, which sadly didn't include Claire. Not that I felt like showing off or anything . . .

"Alright, Charlie, it's up to you," Hurley proclaimed, pulling the flag free from hole. "The honor of the team rests on your shoulders!"

Charlie knelt in the grass, moving aside a few twigs and in general trying to get his eye line to match with the hole. Michael chuckled. "Guys, please," Charlie implored. "Never made par on a course before."

He breathed out once and took the shot. The ball trailed lovingly towards the hole and for a moment I thought we'd won. Then the ball shifted away, missing it by mere centimeters. A groan went up from the crowd, none louder than Charlie's own.

"Dude, we were robbed," Hurley announced sadly.

"Our victory snatched away by the cruel hand of fate," I lamented. Ah well, not bad for a first time.

"Okay, Jack," Michael stated confidently, rubbing his hands together, "it's up to you. Sink this and we bring home the blazer."

"No pressure," Kate commented snidely from the sidelines.

"Yeah, no pressure Charlie grumbled bitterly.

He squared up silently, taking careful stance.

"Five bucks says he sinks it." Hurley's words broke the tranquility of the bird songs. Jack smiled fondly.

"Mate, you're betting against us!" Charlie cried out, gesturing between himself and me.

"Sorry, dude, but we're all duffers on this team."

"Make it ten and you're on," Boone announced.

"I don't have any cash, but I'll bet my dinner on the Doc," Oscar told us, pointing his finger confidently at his choice. A general 'ooo' arose from the crowd at that proclamation. Jack pointed back at his teammate with equal confidence, getting ready to make the shot.

"I've got two tubes of sunscreen and a flash light says he chocks," Sawyer announced making his dramatic entrance. Everyone looked at him silently, no one overly pleased with him at the moment. He smiled sadly.

"I'll take that action," Kate piped in, beaming.

_She's got the hots for him._

"Yeah," Boone looked at Sawyer, "Yeah, me too."

"You just bet on Jack, dummy," Shannon reprimanded him.

"We need the sunscreen, princess."

Jack looked at everyone, back down to the ball and then up again. He breathed out slowly and putted. The ball rolled along casually, almost leisurely up to the hole, teetered on the brink and then fell in. Jack's team had made par.

I applauded, everyone did. It was a great shot. Jack bowed. "Thank you!"

"The winner of the First Island Open is Jack and his team!" Hurley proclaimed for all to hear, raising Jack's fist up in the air.

"You owe Boone some sunscreen," I told Sawyer, not too disappointed in his loss.

"Alright, Shaq, I'll get on with it," Sawyer told me. His face had a peculiar smile on it, as if he was happy just to be included in the activities of the camp.

"Alright, I'm leading a team now," Ethan announced, picking up a club, "Who's with me?"

Kate, the Korean guy—Jin, I think his name was—Scott and a couple others took him up on the offer, but I'd had more than enough golf for one day. I fetched a bottle of water, sharpened my knife and watched the game. Ethan proved to have amazing strength and accuracy making shots that seemed almost impossible. My respect for this man grew despite my unshakable suspicion something wasn't right with him.

Unsurprisingly his team took home the victory. A third game would've started up but unfortunately the night was fast coming and we had to hike back to the caves or the beach. I missed Sayid. Knowing the Arab man, he really would have enjoyed himself. Sending all the best thoughts I could his way, I just hoped he was alright.

The caves became full of the gentle murmuring of people in various states of alertness. At least I lasted longer than Hurley; in his defense he'd had a big day, it was late and the sound of the mini waterfall proved to be soothing in the extreme.

I decided to get a good night's sleep, turning in before too long. My head nestled against the sleeping bag's pillow, I slept peacefully.

Until the screaming started.


	22. Chapter 22 Night Terrors

**Chapter 22**

"**Night Terrors"**

The screams had no form, just the noises of a woman shrieking in horror, screaming her guts out in pure terror, howling wordless noises of utmost fear. I strained my ears a moment, then realized: not just any woman. _Claire_.

The sounds of her panicked cries shook me awake faster than a gunshot. Everyone was stirring around me but I was quicker by far. Kicking my way out of the sleeping bag with a speed that surprised myself, my hand dropped to the knife belted at my waist, drawing the blade as I crossed the caves and shoved Boone aside as I went.

Claire stood alone, flailing her arms eyes darting around rapidly with terror. Seeing her alone I slipped the knife away, grabbing her wrists, to get her attention. "Claire!"

She only screamed louder trying to hit me, her small fists making an impressive enough impact against my shoulders. Glancing at her panic stricken eyes, I noticed the glassed over look, she must be sleep walking. "Claire, calm down! Claire! Claire, listen to me!" I yelled holding her wrists as she swung her arms wildly.

"Dude, is she…?" Hurley asked me, but I ignored him, the terrified Australian woman held my complete attention.

"Claire, it's okay, you were sleeping, it's just a dream," I told her firmly, shaking her just a tad. She stopped screaming, going a bit limp. Instead of calming down she collapsed against my chest, her body racked with horrified sobs.

_Must__'__ve__been__on__heck__of__a__dream._

"You were just sleep walking." I held her head in both my hands, forcing her to look at my smiling face. "It's okay."

She broke down, sobbing into my chest. Throwing her arms around me, Claire clung to me like I was some sort of pillar. That's when I felt her hands on my back, soaking wet, and . . . sticky?

I tenderly moved her hands before my eyes taking a good long look at them in the light. They were soaked in blood, her blood.

"Claire, what happened?" I asked her, my voice full of concern.

"My baby," she gasped between sobs. "I'm supposed to take care of him . . ." She cried a bit more, breaking down in my arms even further, wetting my t-shirt with her tears.  
"A cradle in the jungle . . . blood . . . Locke, with fate cards . . ." I couldn't understand any more of it, so I just wrapped my arms around her rocking her back and forth, making soothing noises.

"Shh, it's gonna be all right, its gonna be okay."

"Is she alright, mate?" Charlie asked me, concern evident in his eyes. "She okay?"

"I think so." I continued rocking the crying woman. "She's bleeding, though."

Claire had stopped crying now, leaving her face buried in my shirt.

"Claire," I asked as gently as I could, "can I look at your hands?"

With one final sob, Claire nodded, slowly coming back to reality. She held them up to me, the blood glistening in the light. I'm no doctor, but it was obvious enough what had happened to her. Her fingernails were coated in blood, just like her palms. Whatever she'd been dreaming off it was enough to cause her to make fists tight enough she'd buried her nails deep enough in her palms to draw blood.

By this point most people were settling back down, drifting off to sleep or returning to their posts. "Claire, this is going to get infected if it's left alone. We're going to have to clean it. Can you walk?"  
Claire nodded, her tear-stained eyes, accepting my offered hands. I lifted her gently walking her over to the stream. I sat her down on a rock by the stream, holding both her hands out. The blood was starting to dry and she'd stopped crying.

"Want to tell me what happened?" I asked her casually, taking one of the rags we'd left near the stream for a cloth and dunking it in.

"Well," Claire started timidly, her voice so low I had to strain to hear it, "I wasn't pregnant and I kept hearing a baby crying." She winced a little as I started to run the cloth over the wound. "Locke was sitting at a card table in the middle of the jungle. His eyes were really weird, different colors, I think." She took a deep breath, trying to calm herself. "He told me that I wanted to give up the baby and now everyone was going to suffer." She paused, and hissed in pain as I scrubbed the blood away from her hands. "Then I found the crib . . . It . . . it was full of blood." She started sobbing again, little whimpers of fear.

"It was probably nothing," I told her. "Just your anxiety and hormones spilling over." I kept going with this trail of thought. "Locke's just been around recently, so he pops up in your dream. Sure he gives you some line from that crack in the past. Again, just your fears bubbling over."

Claire smiled sadly, her eyes wet from crying. "Where'd you learn psychology?"

"Took it for a semester in high school, figured it might come in handy." I put the cloth down. "Guess I was right."

Neither of us slept that night.

* * *

I urged Claire to see Jack about her wounds the next day, get them properly bandaged and cleaned. Fortunately she seemed to be her usual cheery self, convinced she'd just had a bad dream, one brought on by stress or by bad fish. As she went off on her own Charlie approached me.

"You look someone who needs some caffeine, mate," he told me, handing me a teacup full of, to my great surprise, tea.

I did feel the bags under my eyes, the dull tired nagging in the back of my mind, so I took the cup gratefully. It was very warm, the tea smelled great so I took a long sip. Earl Grey. Could've used some milk and sugar, though.

"Where'd you find this?"

"Some lady's suitcase. Four little tea cups and a big box of tea." He took a sip himself. "I figured what sets us apart from those savage yanks is because we drink tea."

"Canada is one of Her Majesty's colonies."  
"That's why I brought it to you."

I raised the cup in toast to Charlie. "Well, it's appreciated." I took a nice long sip. The tea was a bit hot, scalding my tongue, not that I cared.

"So what do you think happened to Claire?" Charlie asked me, clearly concerned. The little yellow plastic cup did little to disguise his emotions.

"Just like she said, bad dream." The tea was finished. Charlie promptly produced a little yellow teapot and refilled the cup. I appreciated that.

"Must've been a sodding terrible nightmare. I mean,"—Charlie put his cup of tea down so he could gesture—"the woman screams like a maniac, buries her nails in her palms and then breaks down into tears?" He picked the tea back up, pausing from the conversation long enough to drain and then refill the cup. "I've had some nightmares in my time, never caused myself to bleed and wake everyone."

I shrugged. "It's the stress. This woman has to deal with delivering this baby, then offering it up for adoption. Then she crashes and now has to deal with the very real possibility of giving birth on an island without any aids whatsoever. And trust me,"—I finished my second cup, Charlie poured me a third—"when my mother started getting this jumpy, she had her baby in slightly over a week. I just hope she's not too shook up."

Charlie clapped my shoulder with a masking tape covered hand. "The lady's made of stronger stuff than that. I'm sure she'll be fine," He produced a third of these teacups and filled it to the brim. "All the same, maybe the Aussie would appreciate a cup. Make her feel a bit closer to home."

I took the cup gratefully. "I'm sure she would." My spine cracked comfortably as I stood, the pain in my side just about gone.

"Remember, it's hot." Charlie mimed a burned hand.

I nodded and headed out of the cave, the warm jungle air massaging my neck. The bags under my eyes rose away as the caffeine and activity kicked in. I began whistling a Nightwish tune under my breath. Birds chirped in the treetops and the wind whistled through the leaves. No monsters, no polar bears. It was pleasant enough.

Claire was several paces from the cave entrance, sitting with her back against a palm tree. She was writing away in her journal, no doubt writing about her dream.

"Morning!" I announced as I arrived. Claire looked up from her journal, her eyes still held their bags from the previous night, but other than that she seemed happy enough.

I handed her the teacup. "Charlie made tea! He figured you'd want some."

"Well, he was right," Claire responded, taking the cup gratefully. "I could use something warm." She took a sip from the tea, a smile creeping its way across her face, sending that twinkle back into her eyes that I loved so.

"So what did Jack say? Are you okay?"

"Yep," she nodded, her curly blonde hair bouncing, "bandaged me up, gave me a clean bill of health."

"Good. You know I worry about you." I took a long draft from my cup, the strong tasting Earl Grey washing its way down my throat.

"I'm fine, Alec," she told me stubbornly. "It was just a dream."

"I used to have this dream," I told her. "I'm sitting in a car, my best friend is driving. He takes us over a waterfall, and the cops are chasing us. Felicia Day is sitting in the back seat, eating bacon. My hair falls out." I finished my tea. "Of course, I don't bleed afterwards."

"I'm fine!" Claire continued doggedly, not letting up any ground.

"I'm sure that's what General Custer thought at the Battle of Little-Big Horn… Anyways, I know this is got to be hard on you. You're pregnant, alone on an island, no family or friends. So, if you need someone to talk to..." I let the sentence fade, not wanting to embarrass myself any further.

"That's sweet of you to offer, but really, I'm fine."

I nodded. "Okay, I'm just going to duck back into the caves, then. If you need me I'm there."

Claire nodded and went back to her journalism.

The caves were mostly abandoned when I arrived. Jin and Sun were present, talking between themselves in Korean, but everyone else was out and about. Perfect time to continue my project. I unzipped the top of my bag, pulling out the folded paper I'd been working on these past few days. The pencil followed, the faithful writing tool not breaking its lead. Soon I was leaning comfortably against a cool stone wall, my chessboard proving to be an effective writing surface. I scratched another line onto the page before erasing it. That last bit had been terribly awful. Beyond terrible.

A moment of inspiration hit me and I followed with a couple more lines. Decent stuff, or at least _I_ thought so. Sometimes it was great to have studied poetry. I never suspected it would have come in handy on a deserted island.

"What'cha got there, Shatner?" Sawyer asked me, looking down on me all of a sudden. Popping out of nowhere was something he'd gotten really good at, I didn't even know how.

"Sawyer! What the heck are you doing here?" I snapped, pulling the page close to my chest. Sawyer was wearing a plain blue t-shirt, one that showed off the whopping arm-bandage he had on. My bet was it wasn't for show.

"Doc won't trust me with my own painkillers, got to come up and get them. Besides,"–He glanced at Boone's pallet—"I've gotta drop some sunscreen off for this kid. He won it yesterday after all." He looked back at my page. "Still haven't answered my question."

"It's private. Go steal from an old lady," I responded sharply, not liking where this conversation was going.

"I would, but I'm bored with that." Sawyer's smile turned cruel and he snatched the paper out of my hand. His hand was almost a blur, I couldn't follow it.

"Hey!" I snapped at him, my hand dropping to my knife's handle. "Give it back!"

Sawyer just laughed. "Oh, this is rich." He cleared his throat and started reading aloud. "'Your hair is a golden cascade falling from heaven,' or how about this bit? 'Your eyes are so pure I could be eternally lost in them.'" He laughed. "Really, string-bean, you got it bad."

I yanked the paper out of his hand, feeling the blush spreading across my cheeks.

"If you ask me, it's about time you swept the fair maiden off her feet." He paused. "Of course, with the extra baggage that might be difficult for your thin legs."

"Go sod off, man, I don't need this now," I told him testily, not wanting this redneck making fun of my feelings and not-so-great poetry. I doubted he could appreciate what I was going through; I barely could.

"The baby-mama's already in love with you anyway," he told me casually, looking off into space.

That got my attention. "What do you mean?"

Sawyer laughed. "Figure it out. Talk to you later, cowboy." The Yankee sauntered away, picking up a vial of pills as he went.

_Douchebag._

Regardless, he was right, I needed to make a move before someone else did. I had to do something. I put the final touches on this piece. Yeah, Claire's had a rough day. Tomorrow, yeah, I'll let her know how I feel tomorrow.

"Hey, man," Hurley asked me as he came back with a bag of fish. "I've been fishing all day. Wanna play backgammon?"

I folded my paper and put it in my back pocket. "I thought you'd never ask."

The first game went to me! I think it was the first time I'd won a single game on this bloody island. Hurley took the next three and I took the final.

"Dude, that was close," he commented as I removed my last blot.

"I'm getting better," I stated with confidence.

"I'm still the king, man." The sun was starting to set when we put the set away.

"Chess tomorrow, Hurley, then we'll see if your luck can hold out!"

Hurley offered a hand to shake. "You're on."

I decided to turn in early that night. The lack of sleep I'd gotten the previous night was catching up to me. I rolled into the slightly burned sleeping bag, rested my head against the pillow and placed the bolero over my eyes to block out the light from the campfire burning in the cave's center. I was hoping Claire would sleep through the night. I was wrong.


End file.
